


In The Spirit of Love

by Symmet



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But she also gotta, Everyone is in love with Hawke, F/F, F/M, Hawke is OP, Hawke is really bad at telling secrets, Just a tad infatuated at the least, Love Spirit AU, Merrill is a sweet sweet cinnamon roll, No one even realizes it, Scept for Varric probably, TOO GOOD, Too pure for this world, also bits of hurt/comfort, at least a lil, justice is an asshole, maybe bits of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symmet/pseuds/Symmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The spirit approached her while assuming her shape - for in her heart it could feel the closest thing it had ever felt to itself from a mortal. It had never encountered such a thing before, and despite all its wariness of the world, it felt compelled to seek her out - the way one might should they see a vaguely familiar face in a lonely and cold land.</p><p>The girl looked up at the approaching child, stick poking at the river bed, a grin growing on her face, completely unfazed.</p><p>“Hello! Who are you?”</p><p>“Love.”</p><p>The girl smiled wide at the strange name, a missing tooth, a scrunched nose, but only said in delight, “Hello Love, I’m Hawke. Marian Hawke.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Disclaimer of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly I thought, "What if Hawke literally loved everyone in her party no joke couldn't choose between them so she didn't actually romance anyone."  
> And then things sort of happened.

Some say the Champion of Kirkwall merely got to power through her noble ties. Others, that it was cunning and relentless political maneuvers. Still more that it could only have been pure, dumb luck.

Despite the relevance of the last idea, those who know her seem to disagree on all those accounts.

The stories continue, of course. For good or ill, none can stop the chatter, idle or otherwise, and the title has seen express use recently. _The Champion of Kirkwall_.

Everyone wants to know who she is.

There are questions - of the motivations of this so called Champion. There is a vicious debate over why she has done what she has done for the people around her. The same ideas are recycled - the same speculations make their rounds. In the end, they all come down to the same choices.

Wealth, power, or glory?

They seem to have made up their minds that it is one of those things - or perhaps a measure of each. As if those motivations were the most obvious ones, the woman who started off with very humble beginnings, who did not utilize her noble house for politicking, and who did not ask to be called Champion. Still, they are certain on this - it must be those, at least one of them. As if those are the only things worth fighting for. They wrap their elaborate stories and half truths - bend them around her until they are stretched to breaking - to stay within the confines of those three motives.

The truth is far more simple and far more complicated - Marian Hawke has only ever had one true guiding factor in life, and for that reason she chooses her companions carefully. Not for wealth did she accompany a dwarven merchant in a triumphantly terrible escapade to the Deep Roads, nor seek a lost and stolen (not in that precise order) relic with a Rivanni pirate. Not for power did she befriend a Dalish blood mage in her pursuit of her culture’s ancient mysteries, nor stand with the Fereldan warrior she would see become Captian of the Guard. Not for glory did she hunt slavers who in turn hunted an ex-slave elf from Tevinter, nor extend her aid and sympathies to a rebelling ex-Warden apostate.

Her one and only motivation, as she’ll gladly tell you - even under exclamations of cheesiness - has been _love_.

A strange concept - sure. It might sound perhaps too idealistic - too “pure” to those disillusioned with the world. There were times when she thought so - that she would do better to abandon the world rather than attempt to muddle along, hoping her spirit would not be corrupted by the ugliness of those around her. There were times she nearly faltered - not _despite_ her love but _because_ of it. When instead of providing a crutch for her to cling to, it became the blade pointed at her head.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I should probably start at the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're supposed to read this in Varric's voice.


	2. For Clarity's Sake - Part 1

Her story starts, of course as anyone knows, in the town of Lothering, in Ferelden. In this instance, on the day of Carver and Bethany’s birth. Malcolm sent Marian out of the house during the pregnancy so she wouldn’t get trampled underfoot in the chaos, so she went out towards the little woods bordering town to play. She was extremely excited, so much so that when she slipped on a slick rock and nearly tumbled into the water, the emotion manifested into intent, and she landed on a cold, solid surface instead.

She had frozen the pond. 

Aware only vaguely that Magic Was A Thing That Sometimes Her Parents Would Fight About, she resolutely decided to keep it a secret.

Her “spellwork" awoke a spirit that had been stranded on the wrong side of the Veil and resided in some nearby caves. It stirred, just as much for her emotions as for the burst of magic so close to its hiding place. It feared the open world and its denizens, which could twist it to something ugly. So it only blearily awoke and noted her presence before deciding not to venture out.

She returned home none the wiser, and delightedly came to regard the two new additions to the family. She mentioned to no one her new abilities, and regarded her siblings with such all encompassing love that the spirit, who had settled down to try and rest again, became fully aware of her, despite the great distance between them.

-

The next day she wandered away from home again, as the newborns needed much tending, as well as her exhausted mother, and went to play by the creek to see if it was still frozen.

It was.

The spirit approached her while assuming her shape - for in her heart it could feel the closest thing it had ever felt to itself from a mortal. It had never encountered such a thing before, and despite all its wariness of the world, it felt compelled to seek her out - the way one might should they see a vaguely familiar face in a lonely and cold land.

The girl looked up at the approaching child, stick poking at the river bed, a grin growing on her face, completely unfazed.

“Hello! Who are you?”

“Love.”

The girl smiled wide at the strange name, a missing tooth, a scrunched nose, but only said in delight, “Hello Love, I’m Hawke. Marian Hawke.”

The spirit was baffled by her, and she in turn delighted by it, completely unawares of the oddness of the situation.

She was young - naive and curious. 

The child invited the spirit over to look into the stream, so the spirit did. And melted the water for the frogs’ sakes, much to Marian’s excitement. When they peered into the newly melted surface it was only then she noticed how perfectly their faces matched.

Excited further by the strange phenomena - and having no other children her age with which to play, Marian gladly took the spirit into her confidence. They talked on many things, Marian explaining how magic was A Secret Thing Not For Grown Ups, how she was a Big Sister now, and that was very, very, _very_ important, and the spirit on how it had gotten waylaid from the Fade, and how it was not usually safe for it to be around humanity.

Neither quite understood the other, but Marian was too naive to think ill of the spirit, and the spirit firmely felt in her consciousness a light of Love and the absence of ill will.

So, somehow, in only the span of a couple hours, they formed an unlikely trust.

She returned home a little later than usual, but her parents were so exhausted, they only smiled tiredly at her and let her peer at the swaddled bundles and watched her dance in delight.

When they asked her what she’d done that day, she said she’d visited the creek.

“You didn’t go anywhere else? That little pond? Not much to it.” Papa mused affectionately, “I’ll bet a sovereign she’s adopted a frog or something."

“It was so lovely and quiet before the mosquitos.” Mama sighed wistfully, “I used to read books there.”

“Its got frogs and bugs and fish and Love.” Marian had exclaimed proudly, as if these things were her doing, “I make lots of friends.”

“So if I want to find you, I’ll look for you at the creek from now on, will I?” Her Papa had joked.

“Yes!” She had exclaimed, “That is a good idea!”

They had laughed, and sent her to bed.

The next day she went again.

-

Marian chatted almost incessantly about her siblings, and the spirit steadily grew reassured that pure love still existed in the world.

“When I found myself here, I knew it would be bad. Spirits of Love such as I are not usually tended until we are powerful, but we are always rare - meeting humans almost always deforms us. Into desire, into hate, into jealousy. I retreated into the caves to preserve myself against human passions and follies. Except you. You are of a true love. I have found a kindred spirit in you. What would you do to protect what you love?”

She didn’t hesitate when she answered, peeking under a rock for bugs, “Anything.”

This was the answer the spirit wanted, and it became something of a secret between the two - or perhaps more of a promise.

-

Marian, who was about 5, didn’t really understand this serious little spirit girl who looked like her.

“Does that make us twins?” Marian asked in excitement, “Papa says Carver and Bethany are twins. That means they’re the same but not. Are we? Mama said they would look alike, but we look even more alike!”

The spirit fondly, and not fully understanding, agreed, “Yes, yes we are the same, but separate.”

By then Marian had learned something of demons and spirits - if only slightly. It was too late to make her doubt in her friend’s intentions, though, so she simply relegated it to one of The Things Grown Ups Think They Know But Really Don’t - like when Mama told Papa to cut some firewood before it rained and he whispered to Marian it wouldn’t rain for a week but it rained the next day and all the fire wood got soggy and Mama was upset but she also laughed at Papa, too.

“Grown ups,” Marian whispered to the spirit conspiratorially, “can be _wrong_.” She covered her mouth with her hands in thrilled glee at her discovery, while the spirit nodded seriously at this new information.

Marian made the spirit promise not to tell anyone, because people were afraid of spirits, and she didn’t want her friend to get hurt like the mage the Templars took last year. Papa and Mama had been very upset, and had yelled at each other, but Marian knows they were just afraid because they cried a little after while they were holding each other close.

“Yes, because they love each other.” The spirit had agreed when she was thinking about it.

Marian was confused. Love meant being happy, she thought. When Papa picked her up and let her pretend she was flying. When Mama made her a glass of warm milk late at night because she couldn’t sleep. When Papa told her stories as he carried her on his shoulders. When Mama stroked her hair and sang to her when she’d had a nightmare. When Carver cooed up at her and when Bethany would only eat her mashed up fruit if Marian was feeding it to her. Wasn’t that love?

“Yes," the spirit agreed, “That is love.”

But Mama and Papa had been yelling and scared and they had cried afterwards.

“Love is made up of all the emotions. Pain, hate, fear, joy, sadness. We are immune to nothing and susceptible to all. It’s why we’re so easily corrupted.”

Marian didn’t really understand, but when she thinks about it, when Papa is irritable and tells her to stop acting like a child, it had hurt. When Mama doesn’t have time to play with her and tells her to go outside instead, it made her sad. When Carver went missing and everyone ran around looking for him, and she found him sucking on a spoon behind the couch, she had been scared. When Bethany threw her doll across the yard, even though Marian had let her _borrow_ Ser Widdles, it had made her angry.

“Yes,” the spirit agreed again, “That is love, too.”

-

Marian would go home when it began to get dark, and return to the woods come morning.

“Our little elf child, have you been adopted by a Dalish clan? Out to frolic with the fairies?” Her father would joke, patting her on the head as she scarfed down her breakfast. Before she left she’d always walk over to give a kiss to Bethany and Carver, and, if her father was in the room, him too, once he gave a loud sigh of indignation. It was her daily ritual for many years.

The two grew so close that the spirit began to wonder what had become of it. It didn’t mind, so long as it had her company, for she was its kindred, and it felt less alone than it had in many long years. It pined when she was away, for it had nothing else to do but wait for her, until eventually the spirit was convinced to follow her back to town. It had been resistant to that idea because it fully believed people would distort it and twist it into demon form, but Lothering was a peaceful place, and though there was some petty love, some one-sided love, some lost love, some first love, Marian’s love for her family outshone it all and guided the spirit like a beacon so that it never began to doubt in itself.

The two had to be exceptionally clever and careful (more of the latter than the former), for neither did they want Malcom to sense Marian’s budding magic nor the spirit itself. Despite this added risk, Marian blossomed when she was able to spend more time at home, taking on the responsibilities as an elder child fully and happily, to the relief of her parents.

The spirit did not tell Marian that it began to help people around town - especially her parents - with maintaining their love. Lover spats were glossed over, hurt feelings mended, tender moments remembered.

Marian noticed, however, and thanked the spirit later for making it easier for her parents, as much was hard, and she’d begun to notice the years in her parents’ eyes, even if they still smiled just as fully as she’d known as a child.


	3. For Clarity's Sake - Part 2

When Bethany’s magic was discovered, much to Marian’s dismay, but ultimate confirmation, her parents were not delighted. Leandra worried, and so did Malcom, though he was hiding fully why.

Marian began to sit in on the lessons he gave to Bethany, always watching, never practicing, and when she got bored or thought she might go crazy from not using magic while they both did, she would seek out Carver and go exploring with him or keep him company. Carver was slightly bitter that he didn’t have magic and didn’t have the same attention as Bethany did, but Marian made him feel better for it. He also caught on how Leandra worried about magic and demons and possession, which he internalized, resolute that he should watch Bethany and Malcom for signs of foul play for their own protection.

One day, while they were exploring the woods, Carver slipped from some rocks and tumbled into the river below. In a panic, Marian parted the veil and accidentally summoned a demon. The demon fled but the spirit recovered an unconscious Carver who Marian carried home. 

After being scolded by their parents, she and Carver retreated to their beds. Marian was extremely upset by the situation, not just by what she viewed as a failure on her part to protect Carver, but the simple fact that he almost died. She refused to go exploring with Carver after that, telling him it was too dangerous. This only served to upset him and make him feel more ostracized. He also hadn’t told her that he’d heard her speaking to someone while she carried him home, and he was afraid she’d been possessed.

While she dreamed that night, the spirit told her that she’d summoned a demon and that it had to be dealt with. 

“We are love.” She said, “We protect what we love. What would you do to protect them?”

“Anything.” Marian said.

Little did she know, Carver heard her mumbling in her sleep, so the next day when she left to go to the forest, Carver followed her.

“Your brother follows us.” The spirit said when it noticed, and then there was a confrontation.

Carver accused the spirit of using mind control on his sister, Marian disagreed, and the spirit stayed mostly silent until finally -

“His love is marred with fear.”

Seeing how at peace Marian was with the spirit, however, Carver only grew increasingly afraid. The tipping point was when it manifested its “physical" form which looked identical to Marian.

The demon Marian had accidentally summoned - Desperation - felt Carver’s terror and attacked them.

Carver was flung to the side, but the spirit managed to absorb most of the blow so that it wasn’t fatal. He watched Marian use her magic fully and offensively for the first time, sitting prone at the base of a tree, stunned.

At one point the demon shoved her away and turned towards Carver, who had begun to feel around for a stick.

The spirit materialized in front of Carver to shield him, but Marian still sent out explosive lightning in her terror.

The demon spun towards her and hooked its fingers in her belly before the spirit _tugged_.

A flash bright with _rage_ and _terror_ , and Love had rent the demon to pieces with a single blow.

It was too late, however - Marian was bleeding out on the forest floor. 

-

Carver had scrambled up, clutching a stick, but he dropped it when he saw the red, spreading, spurning, stealing. He screamed and ran, tore through the forest, anywhere else, _anywhere else_ as the spirit fell to its knees beside Marian.

“No, no, no please.” It begged her, “You are the only one. I have been so alone. I did not mind until I met you. Please, Marian, get up, please.”

Marian gently caressed the spirit’s face. This was the first time she could actually touch the spirit, could feel it. She knew something important was happening.

“For me,” She coughed, red on her lips, “You’ll take care of them for me?”

The spirit cried, urged her to get up, to heal herself, they would continue together.

Marian was choking on her own blood, could barely get the words out.

“What would you do for the ones you love?” Marian managed finally.

A soft wail answered her, but she begged with her eyes.

“ _Anything_.” The spirit said finally, promised her, bowing its head over her dead body, “Anything.”

It looked up and the girl’s eyes were closed.

_From now I will wear this face for the both of us._

-

She carried Marian down to the cave she had slept in for decades. She laid her down, and set fire to everything within.

Then she collapsed the cave entrance as she walked out.

Carver was waiting.

His face was cold, his eyes red. The spirit expected he had told Malcolm. Or would try to kill her.

He didn’t. He was afraid. She knew she wouldn’t be able to change that. Malcolm’s warnings of demons had long seeped into his mind. He thought she would kill him if he spoke. That she would kill them.

But a part of him knew she must have loved Marian. Must have.

He was conflicted, confused, cut up from the inside, by all the betrayals, burning, bitter, blood in his mouth. He was the only one who wasn’t a mage. He was bitter over it. Envious.

And for what? Marian was dead, dead, dead, and that could happen to _Papa_ , and that could happen to _Bethany_.

But he would not say anything. He would watch - he would wait.

Mages were not what Papa said at all. They were dangerous. To him, to other people, to themselves.

He would be careful, ready to strike.

They had reached an understanding.

“I’m watching you.” He said.

And they never really spoke again.


	4. End of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning: Part Two

She became the new Marian Hawke, and the bright and bubbly girl became quiet, subdued. She had arranged around her fragile preservation of true love four wards, each in the likeness of Marian’s family members.

Three years before the Blight, the first was struck from her when Malcolm died in 9:27. 

The second, then, when Bethany fell to the ogre, Leandra blaming her and Carver looking on in silence.

Caver, her third, died in the deep roads after demanding she bring him with her.

And finally Hawke held Leandra in her trembling hands. And the last ward against the corruption of her love fell away.

She had long ago become something more human, too long ago for anyone to have guessed her true origins. She’d taken up the sword and shield, but they could not save Leandra from the dark magic. Her spirit magic would not work here. All she felt was overwhelming desperation, and she remembered all too bitterly how last that had ended when magic was cast at the same time. Leandra said goodbye to the creature she believed was her eldest daughter, and then she died.

Finally, the Hawke line was over.

Every time was a struggle with her failure. She had fallen to despair, perhaps, or apathy. Her debt to Marian was over, done.

There was nothing left to protect.

That night, as she travelled the fade, a memory spirit came to her. It was small, long black hair, wide eyes, a lovingly made dress that was ragged from the dirt it had met and the twigs it had snagged.

5 year old Marian Hawke.

“You are not over.” She promised, “You are not done.”

Perhaps not a memory at all. Perhaps a spirit of purpose, seeking to save what had suddenly perished.

“You have found a new family. New people to love.”

It was true, but it felt sick, wrong. She had strayed from her duties in protecting the Hawkes, she did not deserve friends of her own. She had failed.

“No, no, you love them.” The girl became distraught, tears catching in her eyes. Marian, the spirit, watched indifferently.

It held out its hands beseechingly.

“They’re your new seals, don’t you see? Your new reasons to stay. You don’t belong here anymore. You love them, you belong to them now.”

Marian, who had never cried for any of the Hawkes, save perhaps Marian, if she had been able to, broke down.

She bent under her tears, brought to her knees before the girl-shaped-spirit.

“Do I? But they would hate me, ostracize me, if they knew. Fear me.”

“At first, maybe, but not forever. Not as long as you have been.” the girl reminded her gently.

“Varric will never look at me the same again. And Merrill, she said spirits are dangerous.”

“You _are_ dangerous.” the girl said, voice full of mirth, “For _them_. To protect them, that is what you become.”

“And what of Fenris?” She said softly, sharply.

“You can change his mind. You already have, many times over.”

“He would not forgive me for being a mage, let alone this.”

“You are not a mage. You are magic itself.” The spirit admonished.

“He would find that worse.”

“Anders would be happy, Isabela would not care.”

“Isabela would start as many ‘ _make love_ ’ jokes as she could.” Marian said sharply, and the spirit laughed.

Marian wilted, and she and the spirit realized the truth at the same time.

From this point on, if she did not commit to her love, she was rejecting herself.

She was still spirit enough that that was dangerous.

“You know what you must do.” The spirit chided, “Unless you _want_ to become a demon.”

“ _No_.” Marian hissed, then after a pause, she added, “I… I am afraid.”

“You are letting it mar your love. You’re denying your true nature, and that will only destroy you and everyone around you.”

Marian did not answer. Her heart clenched in terror at the thought of telling Varric. Of seeing their faces draw in confusion, of seeing Fenris look on in disgust, in rage, in fear.

The spirit heard.

“What would you do for the ones you love?” The spirit whispered.

The Fade was silent.

“Anything.” 

The spirit nodded, pleased.

Marian let out a gusty sigh, wiping at her face, resolved. It would hardly make anything easier, but she’d always found it simpler to decide on a course of action and commit. Then she could not get distracted - then her spirit sense of Love could not be diminished or undone.

Of course, that was less of a threat anymore, but the habit remained.

She took a deep, rattled breath.

“You are right. Thank you.”

The spirit turned and was gone, leaving Marian to accept her new charges, feeling strangely untethered and yet completely, utterly free.

It was terrifying.

A moment of inescapable joy flooded her - that no longer bound by her promise to protect the Hawkes above all else, she could finally accept how she felt for her company.

When the initial euphoria at being free to love them wore off, nausea at telling them set in.

She knew at least it would be a relief to finally share her knowledge openly. Things she had bit down from saying because she shouldn’t know, knowledge of magic, of spirits, of the Fade.

When Varric blamed himself for the effects of the idol, when Merrill wondered of the Eluvian, when Anders talked of Justice.

When Fenris curled his lips at the Circle mages.

Perhaps she could finally fully be herself - not just Marian Hawke, but herself, also. Even if they were the same.

Even if they were separate.

Though the spirit was gone, she felt a pulse wash over her in the Fade.

Then she woke, a sense of intense determination filling her, and in that moment, she was Love, but also Purpose and Courage.

She got up and left the mansion.


	5. The First Notch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian creates a situation and - despite her diplomatic personality - reveals the type of Hawke we all know and love. You know - the one who makes it up as they go along and desperately hopes shit won't fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Also doodled Marian's face for your perusal  
> [](http://s1295.photobucket.com/user/arlanengin/media/Screen%20Shot%202015-11-12%20at%208.52.51%20PM_zps0f2ird8l.png.html)

The Darktown clinic was, for once, not lit with its signature hanging lantern. That was to say, it was dark. Dark and seemingly empty. 

Marian had always wondered if Justice had noticed her - or how it had not. Perhaps because it did not deign to know Ander’s friends unless it had to. Perhaps she did not exude a strong enough sense of justice for it to feel any need. Perhaps it simply attempted to slumber as she had when she was out of the Veil. She was not sure.

Her spirit senses felt him more than her eyes did - in the dim light, a faint figure at the end of the room.

Anders was there, hunched over something on his table.

Despite being a warrior, dressed in heavy metal and wearing her shield and sword, her footsteps were light on the floor. She peered over his shoulder when she’d reached him.

It wasn't until she saw the curve of his cheeks, his hands flat over the parchment, the stray hair hanging over his face, that it occurred to her she wasn't sure what she was doing here. Well, to see him, of course. Not to tell him. Not _now_? And more importantly, how? 

She hadn't even come to grips with it, herself. That was no state to be in when attempting to explain something like this. 

He mumbled something under his breath and a finger brushed across the length of the page. Old, worn. Ingredients were listed on it, but it looked nothing like one of his healing slaves. 

She frowned. She'd made her way here because he offered comfort to many - even if it was generally of the physical kind. Because she felt an overwhelming sense of loss - displacement in the universe. What now? Just tell him? 

Hardly. No, that was too rash. 

She should leave. 

“Hello, Anders.” She murmured.

The mage yelped, twisting around in shock, looking the picture of guilt.

“Hawke, how did you -? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Marian smiled. Of her friends, Anders had been the most receptive to her. She knew he harbored a love for her that festered in his mind - a little distorted with desire, but more or less pure. It was not one she had wanted to encourage, because he did not know the truth, because she loved him as she loved Merrill - as she loved Isabela and Fenris and Varric. Which was to say she could - perhaps even gladly - partake in physical activities with all of them. But she would not pretend to be anything other than baffled by the mortal fascination and insistence on monogamy. She would not have him suffer through her denial of that.

She had honestly expected it to die away when she ignored it, but instead, it had grown. For whatever reason, he’d seen something in her that made him ache, long for a life he’d decided he could not have. He wanted to love her, to be happy with her. No doubt it angered Justice immeasurably.

Ah, _Justice_.

She’d always been wary of Justice, accepting Anders and never calling him an abomination, but ever unimpressed, unable to speak on her feelings for fear of revealing herself, for jeopardizing her ability to protect the Hawkes.

Now, though, she might need to be careful in order to protect _him_.

He coughs awkwardly, “Shouldn’t you be at your estate? It’s late and… you should rest. Unless…”

A small surge of love - pained, on her behalf. Gentle.

“Unless you need company now. I… I am here, if you do not wish to mourn alone.” He murmurs.

Suddenly, now that he is her charge, it is completely unacceptable, that Justice uses him, destroys him from the inside out. _Her_ charge.

“If I could remove him from you right now, I would.” She says, and it’s true.

Anders' face, alight with curiosity and nervousness, settles into something uglier, instantly knowing who she refers to.

“Why? Stigma against spirits is incorrect. They’re good, pure creatures -“ he starts.

Marian does not let herself blush - this is not the first time he has inadvertently spoken this way - “Anders -"

“No, listen!” He says feverishly, “I can’t understand how this is your sticking point! You’re so open to mages, you’ve helped us so many times, and protected us when Templars are out of hand. And yet, at the end of the day, you can’t accept Justice. Can’t accept me. Do you agree with Fenris? Do you think… I’m an abomination?”

He was giving her the kicked kitten look, which made her slump.

When she’d first met him, he had been a shock, and, yes, it had been… slightly repulsive. She had never once wanted to _merge_ with Marian. To sacrifice the individualities of both of them for the sake of… some twisted form of completion. She had been at peace with their separation. They were the same, but different, unique from each other. To be absorbed by Marian would have mean that one of their wills would have been assimilated into the other. She would have had to give up herself or Marian would have had to.

And that seems so lonely to her.

Anders had not changed that opinion. In fact, despite the fact that he was constantly fighting the spirit clearly not aligned to his soul, it had only made her believe that it had been wrong _more_. In certain instances, she could see it being fine. The elves called it nas falon - a soul so like your own that they might as well be the same person. Even she and Marian had known the differences between them.

Anders and Justice were two puzzle pieces from different sets with similar coloring that had been shoved together shoddily.

But she’d never once blamed him for his ignorance - he’d acted with at least as much knowledge as he could have for a Circle mage, with a sense of selflessness in his heart (not that she approved, necessarily, when it could harm him), and it had been in a moment without much time, she doesn’t think. So she’d overcame what had initially stricken her as repugnant in the name of a growing respect and then eventually... friendship.

But as she’d grown to love Anders, she’d grown to resent the spirit taking residence in his head. It had not _needed_ a mortal host. Existing out of the Veil was taxing, yes, especially if one wanted to meddle in the affairs of mortals. It had taken advantage of a young boy, desperate to do something about the world, who believed it was a ‘First Child of The Maker’. It was manipulating him even now, and it served only to infuriate her. She would have given herself away by now if the spirit had actually shown up more often - perhaps tried to purge it from Anders with force.

She still wasn’t sure how Justice remained at rest with Anders, letting him take charge, but she knew it was not out of kindness. She could delude herself into thinking that it would have been unjust and so the spirit did not attempt it, but the spirit had long ago twisted into something darker. Possibly it was to blend in until they could achieve whatever it was they meant to achieve. Probably what was on the table behind Anders, who was purposefully shielding it with his back.

“I think that wouldn’t matter if he actually _was_ a spirit.” she said softly.

Anders blinked, “What?”

“He has turned into Vengeance, Anders, and he will only take you down with him.”

Anders’ face twisted, “You don’t even _know_ him! You can’t just -“

“Don’t I?” She snapped, then turned her piercing gaze on his eyes, willing the spirit-demon to hear her, “ _Don’t I know you?_ ”

Anders shuddered, but no blue light emerged. Marian calmed herself. _You let hate mar your love_ , she chided herself, _you are better than that. You can be better than that for them_.

“What -“ Anders mumbled, leaning heavily against the table as he recovered, “What was _that_?”

Quick as lightning, she reached around him and snagged the parchment he had been looking at earlier, “What is _this?_ ” She said instead.

Anders made a panicked grab, “Wait -! No -“

She pulled it out of his reach with ease, humming as she looked over it. Then she felt her face go slack.

Anders slumped against the table like a defeated kitten, looking up at her, gauging if she’d recognized it or not.

“Is this what I think it is?” She hissed furiously.

He wilted meekly, “What… what do you think it is?"

She gave him an cold look. 

Now or never, she supposed.

She balled it up in her fist and set it aflame.

Anders yelped at the short burst of warmth and bright light, then realized what it meant. “Wait - you - all this time -?”

Then the shock wore off and he bent over double as blue flared from his eyes and shuddered through his veins. So much force, for _what_? On his own host. Justice was no doubt killing him.

The spirit snarled, voice echoing, “YOU DARE? YOU WHO HAVE STAYED ON THE SIDELINES, CONTENT TO LET TEMPLARS KILL YOUR OWN?”

She tilted her head at him in disgust, “ _Please._ I am no mage.”

Justice’s expression of fury melted to one of blank confusion. Then - _ah_ \- apprehension. He looked closer and recognized. 

She straightened, unblinking.

Love, at its height, as she nearly was, when challenged, would overwhelm this weakened “Justice" any day.

She grinned, indulging in the hatred for one bright moment.

“Leave us or perish.” She said, lips drawn over her teeth ferociously, “I give you _no_ alternatives."

Justice retreated immediately, leaving a stumbling Anders to recover.

He groaned, pressing a hand to his head, “What~?” he mumbled.

Then he straightened in shock, “I blacked out again. Did I - I didn’t hurt you did I?” The fear in his voice made her smile sadly slightly despite herself. She was ruffled, but she took a breath to anchor herself. He was slumped over heavily, knees nearly fully bent under his weight as he rested against his table.

Then she sighed, “You invited a wolf in, Anders, and now it means to eat you.”

His face twisted, but without any knowledge of what he’d done or said, he could not dispute it. Then he saw the ashen remains still clutched in her hand, face clearing with wonder.

“You - you’re a mage. And I never even _noticed_.” His thoughts began to wash over her. His voice was torn between wonder - _a mage, not alone, nor really, she could _understand__ \- then annoyance at himself - _all this time, never thought to check for mana, didn’t need healing as often, always had extra lyrium on hand for me_ \- then, finally, a small measure of pain, of fear, of gut-wrenching hurt -

_Why didn’t she tell me?_

She stared at him grimly.

She could let him think that was it. It would be safe. He would be upset at first but to have a friend who understood his trials - he would be too happy to give it up, to look past that. 

_No_ , she told herself, _no more. I will not manipulate him as Justice has done just for my own comfort_.

“No. I am no mage.” She said, perhaps with more force than she meant, but this moment was hard for her, eating up at her inside. She did not want to misstep, to lose what she so dearly regarded.

She watched his face crumple in confusion, felt it like a blow upon her insides.

That had sounded… perhaps a bit harsh.

She bent down, releasing the remains of the Fade Explosion spell from her palm, now all ash, letting it drift to the floor.

_Do not give yourself time to doubt. Say it. Now._

“I am…” Her voice broke with emotion, cracked under the pressure of sharing this secret, “I am spirit.”

She kept her face calm and cool as she watched his expressions dance and skitter in confusion and alarm.

She reached out with her other hand to place it on his shoulder. He jumped slightly but did not seem to mind. She gently eased him so that he was sitting, though he seemed too in shock to properly settle in it.

“What.” He croaked, finally, “What do you mean?”

She sighed, “I am a spirit who assumed physical form. I…” She shrugged helplessly, “I am spirit." There wasn’t much more to say.

His shoulder was warm under her palm.

“You… you’re… so you _possessed_ someone? Possessed… Hawke?” He sad in confusion, a little fear in his eyes that dragged on her heart.

“No.” She said, trying to keep her voice level, “I made my own body. Hawke… was a girl I met many years ago. When she died she… asked me to take care of her family. So I did."

These were things she’d never said out loud before. She swallowed heavily, bowing her head under it. She made to pull her hand away and with a speed she hadn’t realized he was capable of, Anders caught it in his own.

They were silent for a moment, his thumb pressing down comfortingly on her palm. It sent a slight shiver down her spine. She’d always resisted physical contact because of how intoxicating it could be. Love lost itself to lust more often than to rage - as so to Desire more than Wrath.

He leaned forward slightly, the other hand coming forward to brush under her jaw. At the feather light caress, Marian bit down the exclamation that nearly escaped her. He tilted her head up, fingers so warm, so that she was looking in his eyes.

He was so close.

_Too close._

“What are you a spirit of?” He said suddenly, haltingly, and when she hesitated, “Marian?”

_Her name. Like it was her own, like he understood. It burned and broke inside her fragile heart._

“Love.” She rasped, “I am Love.”

She wasn’t even prepared when he crashed into her.

Set aflame, aflame, aflame. All of it was rushing through her, and for a moment Marian was terrified she had truly become a Desire demon. His hands, they burned cold, like coals, places they had been before but only to heal - but never like _this_ \- her stomach, her back, her arms, leaving behind a trail of fire that cooled against her sweating skin. She arched and ached under his body and he was moaning, panting, begging her for something that neither knew how to answer.

His kiss was pouring molten iron down her throat and she couldn’t breathe. Once, she had not needed to breath, and now her mind was deprived of air and it burned in her lungs and heat blossomed in her chest and pooled in her gut and she pushes him off.

He rolls off her, gasping, does not fight it, just lays there, panting, and she feels betrayed, beloved, broken and bemused all at once. It is _too_ much. The tragic love he lives is too much.

“We _can’t_.” She gasps, “I… I _can’t_.”

But the realization that she already _has_ makes her curl up and fight the urge to cry. He is beside her instantly, of course.

His love is full of passion, of desire desperate and dark, it is true. But he carries a seed of true love that remains at the center, ever bright, ever shining. Curling softly, comfort in the dark, ever dreaming and dear.

A tender hand on her back. _Too warm_. 

“I… I pushed too hard, didn’t I?” He mumbled, sounding hollow, “I… I know you don’t want… but I still - _shit_.”

She laughs despite herself, feeling the way along his pain and guilt because it is rooted in his love for her.

She took a deep breath, collecting herself. Properly. She would do this all now, and explain it fully. So he understood. So he did not feel guilt. So he would understand, at least a little.

“You do not _make_ me feel love, Anders. You were not taking advantage of me. Maybe another spirit, less human, but you cannot inherently control my emotions.”

“But you know.” He said hopelessly, “You know how I feel, and you care, maybe not the same but -“

“I know, yes, but you mistake my reasons for not pursuing a relationship with you. It is not an inability to love you, but that I…hmm…” she sighed, forcing herself to relax, to breath, “I love you. I love Varric. I love Merrilll. I love Fenris. I love Isabela. I love Aveline, though she has no interest in me so she does not need to be accounted for in this. I love you as much as I love Fenris. But you do not love Fenris. Perhaps you could. You certainly think he’s handsome enough -“

A choked cough interrupts her but the blushing mage does not disagree.

“But that doesn’t mean you’d be willing to pursue a physical relationship with him. Or he with you. He’s very sensitive to touch, because of the lyrium. And you are a mage. It reacts to mana. Even then, he’d have to want to be with you. And me, and Merrilll and Isabela. Possibly Varric, but he’s still in love with someone far away.”

Anders shook his head in confusion, laughing, “Are you - are you suggesting a giant orgy?” He giggled at the idea.

Marian snorted, “You are all… so _strange_. My point is, I could not choose one of you over another, and I am exceedingly aware of your _precious_ views on monogamy, so in the interest of not offending nor hurting feelings, I have elected to not pursue any sexual or romantic relationships.”

Anders sighed, “What if I _was_ okay with it though?”

She snorted, “You aren't. And they would have to be okay with it too.”

Anders chuckled, then leaned back on the floor.

“Okay.” He said, “Okay.”

She leaned back as well.

“Shit.” He said finally. “Who else knows?”

“You.” she said simply.

“Am I special, then?” and she felt the curl of hope that maybe she loved him most.

“I am trying to figure out how to tell everyone else.” She said softly. “Please give me time to do that.”

He shifted so that he was facing her. In the moonlight, his face was gentle, sad, “Of course.” He murmured.

“You should sleep.” She said quietly, “You are tired and Justice used a lot of your energy when he came out.”

He frowned as he remembered that.

“What… what did you say to him?” he asks hesitantly.

“Perhaps later.” She murmurs.

A pause.

“Okay.” he said.

“We need you in an actual bed.” She reminds him.

A stifled snort.

They didn’t move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders is zero to a hundred real quick


	6. Like A Sleepover, But Weirder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Varriic's retelling of this part, he will end up claiming artistic liberties in defense of the fact that when _he_ tells it, there is a lot more giggling and an excruciatingly lewd pillow fight. Which is somehow missing from both Hawke's and Anders' versions.

The next day, they are together in her big, empty mansion. Well, except for the two dwarves. But they cannot hear the whispers from her room.

Only a day ago, her mother would have been among them.

Only a day ago, he wouldn’t be here.

How much has changed over night.

“Mourning,” Bodahn would murmur to his son every so often, “It does ill to do so alone.”

“I like Anders.” Sandal would reply.

“You know, I quite agree. Very nice fellow, especially for an apostate.”

“He’s the only one she lets see.” Sandal would say.

“Quite right, my boy, quite right. Good for her to have a familiar face around without her mother. Let’s make some sandwiches and bring them up, yes?”

...

She _does_ let him see - not all of it, not at first. Certainly not all in one day, but enough that the rest of the pieces can fall a little more smoothly into place. Pieces and parts of her that are secret - are emotion - she’s been “human” for several decades now, and she is still sorting it out.

She’d never really let her indulge in emotions before now. In a muted way, yes. But she couldn’t afford to let herself be distracted from her promise to protect the remaining Hawkes.

Not that it had mattered in the end.

Luckily, Anders was insatiable, delightedly asking questions and driving her mind from darker thoughts.

How do you not posses a body? Do you eat or sleep? How did you end up outside of the Fade? Did your family know? How did you meet her? 

How did she die?

And it went on and on.

"Are spirits the children of the Maker?” Anders said, a light in his eyes, though his posture was givingly stiff. Bracing himself.

Terrible at Wicked Grace.

She smiled with a roll of her eyes.

“I do not know.” She said, a touch too fondly.

He blanched, “What? How can you not -“

“Do you remember _your_ birth?” She asked bemusedly, one eyebrow raised, knowing full well the answer.

That drew him up short, “Well, _no_. But…“ He made a vaguely baffled sort of gesture and she laughed, deciding to give in.

“So you only knew who your parents were because they told you.” She continued.

“Well, yes. I suppose…” He mumbled.

“Spirits come to be without any guidance.” She says gently, “So unless you are telling me you believed until now that the Maker visits all of us personally to let us know we’re his children, I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Anders flushed and shook his head, rubbing his neck.

“That’s… that’s just ridiculous.” He murmurs at her teasing.

She chuckles. “Did you never ask Justice?” She says dryly.

If possible, Anders flushes more, “He thought I was being silly and wouldn’t answer me.” He mumbles.

She laughs again, lets herself enjoy the sound around him.

His embarrassment fades, _light like a healing spell, a draught of lyrium relieving his aches, she is letting me see beneath and it is _beautiful_ , how could anyone believe silence is golden when she can make a sound like that?_

It is her turn to blush, but he doesn’t notice because he clears his throat and turns somber, dropping his arm.

“I… actually, I need to know. What do you plan to do about Justice.” He says softly, then rushes to add, “I know you don’t approve. I don’t know what you said but… but he won’t talk to me. I don’t know what to do. Its not like we can turn it off.”

She sighs, “No? There are various unpleasant but effective ways to purge a demon" - he glares pointedly and she rolls her eyes, “ - A _spirit_ from a body.”

He scowls, “No matter what you believe of him, he _has_ been good to me, and he _is_ my friend. I won’t strand him on the other side of the Fade so he can be left at the same exact predicament that caused me to take him in last time.”

She lets his ignorance go - for now, instead choosing to amusedly say, “I was not planning on leaving him on this side of the Fade.”

That brings him up short.

“No?” He asks tentatively.

“Hmmm, no.” She agrees, “If I separate you two while you are dreaming, you will both be free and on the side of the Fade you prefer.”

Instead of the reaction she’d expected, he flushes slightly, rubbing at his neck again “Ah.” He says, “Dreaming. Yes.”

_What if she sees? Andraste that would be mortifying, the way I imagine her. I’ll never be able to look her in the eyes again. Oh, Maker please hear me, I’ll never call a Templar a sniveling pile of lyrium snot again, even if it’s true -_

Marian coughed softly in surprise. Justice would have fended off any Desire demons seeking to manipulate Anders’ mind, which means…

With more fascination than perhaps strictly necessary, she says, “You have _sex_ dreams about me?”

The apostate turns red, hunching his shoulders and stuttering out a clipped, “ _ _No__.” in such a way that very nearly screams, “YES! ALL THE TIME! JUST LAST NIGHT IN FACT!”

She coughs again, a slight flush at her own checks.

He is studiously look anywhere _but_ her.

Yes. The absolute _worst_ at Wicked Grace. Even over Merrill. At least Merrill knows she can be cute and pull the tug out from under their feet occasionally. Anders starts flaring blue whenever he tries to cheat. But even once Justice is gone, she somehow thinks all she’d have to do is smile at him from across the table, and he’d start losing.

All she can do is grin wider.

“At some point, then.” She sighs, trying to control her smile, “When you are feeling _up_ to it."

“Oh, _fuck_ me.” He mumbles under his breath murderously to himself, and she decides to be merciful and not say anything about that either.


	7. Interem

The others notice. Of course they do - how could they not? The reserved and ever diplomatic Hawke, they thought of her like stone, just softer and rounded along the edges. Steady and sure. Calm, collected. Those things haven’t changed and yet.

And yet...

They simply weren’t used to seeing her smile so _widely_. Perhaps the freedom of one soul sharing her burdens was too much after thirty something years of being completely alone - completely unknown.

But they catch it when she turns to gaze at Anders and there is a gentleness in her gaze - one that they’d only seen glimpses of because she used to hide it. The affection is open, and she thinks they didn’t realize she could actually _laugh_ so loudly.

She hadn’t either, if she were honest.

But they notice, within a couple days. They figure he has done the impossible - comforted her through Leandra’s crushing death. They don’t press it - or do their best not to. They _do_ so love to gossip and tease, her ragtag bunch of misfits. At least they’re kind enough not to try talking to her face.

She is certain they must pounce on Anders about it when she isn’t around.

But they each maintain that nothing has happened, only smiling in amusement when someone makes a soft comment under their breath when her hand brushes his in passing and _he_ \- proud, public, affectionate, he is - immediately makes to reclaim that hand firmly and twine their fingers together, a look of determination on his face as she laughs lightly at him.

_She isn’t alone, she never let anyone see and now she lets me. A gift too great, I never deserved this. I want to keep it to myself but she deserves all of this. I’ll give her time to figure out what she wants. I’ll give her time to figure out if she wants me. I’ll give her anything. Anything, please, just to hear her laugh again._

He thinks so loudly sometimes she wonders if he knows that she can hear. It would explain the look of challenge on his face.

It should not be so endearing.

Sometimes he worries for her so strongly - his thoughts are so _loud_ \- that she turns around an smacks him over the head and he smiles up at her apologetically. He’ll rub the back of his head, wincing, smiling, and the others will look on in bafflement.

“Mage sex tickling.” Isabela mutters under her breath.

“You’re on, Rivanni.” Varric will counter quietly.

Aveline makes a disgusted noise. The only sane one in their group, Marian is fairly certain.

A _clink_ of coins being passed.

“I didn’t know you were _ticklish_ , Hawke!” Merrilll would exclaim loudly, causing the rogues to squawk and Anders to huff, blushing.

She’d laugh, loud, it would take them all by surprise before it was gone under the mask again, “I do believe Isabela owes Varric that 4 silver back.”

“Bah.” Isabela would say, smacking the coins into the hand of a smug dwarf. But her eyes would glitter brightly.

_Softness in stone, she yields - I never noticed before, shame on me I should be spotting it a mile away. Would she let me touch, tease, tickle her? Even if nothing more, that sound is positively _delicious_._

She has to bite the insides of her cheeks to refrain from responding.

They need to know.

_They need to know._

If only so they stop thinking of touching her so loudly.

Then Fenris will scoff, loudly, and the moment will be over. They continue. Anders humming in content.

 _Purring, perhaps_ , she thinks mischievously to herself.

They arrive at the Hanged Man. As the group files in, she'll lean in close and nudge him softly with her elbow to get his attention.

“Hm?” He would say softly, snapping to face her.

“Your methods for sensing if someone is possessed are absolutely horrendous, by the way.” She will whisper, a grin on her face.

He’d blink in surprise, then shove at her, laughing, “You _ass_.”

And she would laugh back. Feels the others stiffen in shock. But she and Anders would continue on. She will tell them. They will know. 

And then they will join in.

A soft flame of _jealousy_ brushes at her back, but by the time she turns to look, Fenris' gaze is studiously elsewhere.

 

A cold thing curls in her gut.


	8. On The Relative Disposition Of Being In A Satisfactory State (But Not Meaning It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smaller Interim before plot really actually starts to go about its business again.

It had been several weeks. Every time she mentioned the separation ritual, Anders had deflected or found some way to escape answering.

Until finally, when Bodahn and Sandal were out shopping, she corners him in the library, hands on her hips and growls out, “ _Enough_ , Anders.”

She was so fed up that she didn’t even break when Anders blatantly thought about how much that turned him on. She just scowled harder.

He, at least genuinely flushed, slumps in defeat.

“Okay. Okay, _fine_. I just wanted… I just wanted to give him a little time to prepare for it.” Anders mutters, slinking out of the corner and sitting heavily in one of the chairs. _Sulking_ she thought, unable to repress the slight flare of fondness even as he was being unreasonable.

“Prepare for _what?_ ” She says, managing only just barely not to roll her eyes, “Returning to the place he _belongs_?”

Anders pouts, “We’ve… we’ve been through a lot together. It takes adjusting, you know.”

Her gaze softens. Damn him.

The hands drop from her hips and she walks over to stand in front of him. He is resolutely not looking at her.

“I know.” she says gently, brushing his bangs aside to bend down and press a kiss to his forehead, “And I am thankful for all the times he has helped you. But now he is _hurting_ you, Anders. And I can’t…”

For the sake of kindness she will not say that Justice has been hurting Anders for a long time.

He heaves a deep sigh and looks up at her, “And I know that too.” He says softly.

She can at least take comfort in the fact that he is admitting the relationship is bringing him more harm than help, even if he refuses to acknowledge that it has been manipulative since the beginning. The very nature of manipulation, she supposes.

“What do we have to do?” He says softly.

“I will go to Merrill and pick up the last things I need for the process. Tonight, when you go to sleep, I will enter your dreams and find you - and Justice. I will use the ritual to separate you and he will be free to float around in the Fade to his nonexistent heart’s content.”

He huffs up at her but offers no disagreements. Just to be clear, she adds, “Okay?"

His face is pressed into her belly, and she feels him smile, knows the tired but warm affection at her need to confirm consent charm him.

“Okay."

She also knows that it is really not.

She leaves soon after, because she knows he doesn’t want her there when he cries.

Not because of the crying, itself, but because she is the one inflicting those tears on him in the first place. He will forgive her for this. He will even forgive himself. 

But for now, he is going to lose something he has long decided was a part of himself.

And it really isn’t okay.

She grabs her shield and sword as she makes her exit and steps out of her mansion into Hightown.

He’ll need a couple hours at least to physically finish and recover from his tears. He’ll need months to recuperate from the mental trauma of Justice, and to come to grips with the situation she’s forcing on him for his own sake, but alas, she cannot give that to him now, and even then, he would need her presence to help heal.

But a couple hours?

She can give him that much, at least.

A servant passes by with some intricate - and inaccurately - carved halla out of a polished wood.

Right.

Merrill.


	9. The Love Spirit Doesn't Understand Crushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian pays a visit and is mostly completely oblivious. Which is just disappointing, really. The Love spirit should know better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I MADE AN ART**   
>  [](http://s1295.photobucket.com/user/arlanengin/media/Sheild%20and%20Solemn_zps8oatjetl.png.html)   
> 

Marian decided it was time to call upon Merrill’s help with cleansing Anders of Justice. Or, not directly, but certainly Merrill's knowledge and ability to gather necessary items - herbs, foci, and texts that Marian could brush over just to remember.

Becoming human hadn't truly affected her memories as far as she could tell. But it was just that. How would she be able to tell?

So, in paranoia, she had asked Merrill for any number of reading materials which might aid in the interactions between beings in the Fade. At least it served to make her less suspicious for being a simple human warrior inso far as most people thought.

Still, she did not enjoy perpetrating the lie.

The walk to the alienage was thankfully without incident for once, and Marian takes her time.  Anders was trying to teach her about leisure, not that she was sure she fully understood it.

But taking more time than was strictly necessary seems key. She was still confused about the whys and hows.

Love is not a very lethargic emotion on the whole.

So despite her efforts, she ends up knocking on the little hovel's door before any significant amount of time had passed.

Almost immediately, the door swings open and Merrill's curious and delightful face appears.

"Oh! Hawke! Come in! I didn't know you were coming. Oh, I would have cleaned..." The elf starts muttering in alarm at the strewn about items and objects that had seemingly just revealed their presence to her, and started plucking said objects up left and right as she babbled at Marian to make herself at home. A rosy warmth eminates from the elf mage, and though Marian had long being delighted by the comfort her presence could now cause, she was surprised to notice a sharp, curling anxiety overlaying Merrill's aura.

Embarrassment, perhaps?

Marian, smiling, complies by following the distressed elf inside, and past the large mirror around which most of the miscellaneous items had been laying.

"I'm in no rush." She chuckles, "I just came by to see if you had the things I asked for."

She hears an exclamatory "Oh!" from the other room and a soft thump.

A moment later Merrill's head is peeking out from the door way.

"I could have sworn I put it..." She mumbles, and sets about seeking out the batch of items she had acquired on Marian's behalf. For the most part, Marian just watches on with bemusement and nearly reckless adoration plastered on her face, but Merrill is too busy wringing her hands as she peeks under books and blankets for -

"Ah! There it is! I knew I put it in something so I wouldn't lose any of it, because there's so many bits and pieces, so I thought, 'I know what I'll do! I'll put this in something!' but then I misplaced it anyway. It's okay now, though, because I found it again. It would have been embarrassing if I couldn't find it."

Marian is presented with a lovely and humble little basket, within which she indeed spies various items that seem familiar to her. Her fingers brush over Merrill's fingers for but a moment and the tug of a fresh feeling washes over her mind - nimble fingers braiding the fibers with care, _this will be for Hawke, and Hawke got me a gift and I want to make a gift for her too._

"Thank you, Merrill." She says fondly, her voice going oddly soft as the memory fades.

"Oh! It was no problem at all! Especially since you paid me to do it. Which you didn't have to do." A strong flush of delight at the praise causes Marian to blink a moment before she recovers.

"I rather like to think I did."

"Well, I suppose you can think what you like, but you really didn't. Unless it's a human custom." Merrill's face suddenly fell, "Oh dear, I wasn't rude by refusing your offer the first couple of times, was I?"

"Not that I know of." Marian with an unwarranted amount of cheer, "Humans are rather strange, aren't they?"

Merrill beamed, "Oh, everyone's a bit strange I think. But you're very nice. And Isabela. Anders can be a bit rude sometimes, but I think that's because of him being an abomination and all." Merrill seemed to wilt a little at the end, and then she perked up, "But you're planning to fix that, right? Or, perhaps I shouldn't say _fix_. That makes it sound like a bad thing. Which it isn't - I don't think. I mean it's starting to be a problem, a little, but that doesn't mean it's  _bad_. Does it?"

Marian bit down a wide smile, "No, I don't think so."

Merrill nodded to herself, slightly more serious than Marian was feeling at the moment, and asked, "So are you going to do it now? Because it requires you to be asleep. And it's the afternoon. Not that there's anything wrong with sleeping now! It just seems... a little more difficult. And you're supposed to have mages. Besides Anders, I mean. Unless you need my help?" Merrill asked a little hopefully at the end.

"No, we'll be fine." Marian said softly, feeling a pang of regret at the flash of disappointment on Merrill's face, "As for sleeping, I have some time before I go back. Anything interesting to recommend doing for the next couple of hours?"

Merrill nodded enthusiastically, "There's the market! There's so many different things to get there. Except I'm not very good at haggling and I don't have much money. But you do! Except you probably already have everything you'd need. Because you're very responsible like that, Hawke." She thought for a moment, and as Marian opened her mouth to say something, Merrill's face lit up, " Oh, there's always the docks! They like to yell a lot, and that's always interesting. They come up with very colorful swear words."

Marian chuckled despite herself, of course Merrill would find  _that_ prime entertainment.

She looks down at the basket in her hands, deliberating what else she could do. Worthy had some new stock in, didn't he? Perhaps Marian could peruse in the hopes that something nice had shown up (unlikely, but better safe than sorry, correct?) for once.

A soft pang of failure wells up a few feet from her and she realizes with a sinking feeling that Merrill has deflated completely at the obvious hesitation in her countenance. 

What was it that Isabela was always saying?

_Balls!_

"I was just thinking," She paused so that she didn't sound rushed, "Where would I put this when I went down to the docks?"

Merrill blinked and brightly said, "Oh! You could leave it here! I'm not busy, I could go with you."

Marian let out a soft sigh of relief and obliged by handing the basket back to the elf.

There was a flash of triumph from her friend, and Marian stepped back out again.

Merrill placed it in open sight near the door and then paused long enough to grab a shawl and give her perhaps slightly chaotic living situation a glare before ushering Marian out of the door, her ears turning pink around the edges.

 


	10. Love Like Lost Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill gives Marian a tour. Sort of.

They take their time getting to the docks.

Merrill is practically shining, babbling excitedly the entire way as Marian contentedly walks beside her.

Perhaps it is because the sun is hot that Merrill seems so flushed, but as they continue walking, Marian's calm demeanor seems to catch on, and she starts to wind down into a more relaxed state.

"Did you know, I think people notice me a little more because of you." Merrill said as they passed the Hanged Man and ignored the swelling of voices inside even though it was only the afternoon.

"What?" Marian blinks, startled out of her contemplation of how to inform Merrill of what she was without causing undo excitement or alarm.

"Not in a bad way! I think. I mean, if the templars started noticing me more, that would be bad, but I'm fairly certain they still don't really care because I'm just an _elf_ , which is silly, but -"

"Merrill, I don't understand." Marian cuts in.

"Oh, you know. Since you're _Hawke_. And, well...everyone knows you. And they know _I_ know you. That I'm friends with you."

A soft burst of pride, warm and gentle at the center of Merrill's mind swells into Marian's space, _friends, yes, we are friends, she is my **Lethallan**_. The spirit in her understands the language of the elves, a natural instinct.

Family.

Yes. She is Merrill's family. She has no hope of fighting the smile that catches on her face, even at the worry that Merrill's words start to inspire.

"What kind of attention?" She says softly.

"Oh, nothing scary, I promise. I'll tell you if that happens. Just the pretty lady who thinks she's very important, who sometimes makes potions for you-"

" _Elegant?_ " Marian asks curiously, fighting back a scoff. 

"Yes! She asked me if I knew any Dalish potion recipes and would be willing to sell them."

"I don't understand."

"Well humans don't normally talk to me if they don't have to. I think she recognized me from last time, when you asked me if the potion was worth it, which it really _wasn't_ , it was too expensive, but I _did_ try to phrase it nicely." Merrill says genuinely. 

Marian silently absorbs that.

"What did you tell her?"

Merrill smiled, "Yes I knew them, no I wouldn't want to sell them. They're not for her to sell to the Carta or the Templars. But I would tell Anders. He uses that to help people, not to profit."

Marian smiles at her.

"Yes. Yes he does."

 

\--

 

When they get to the docks, they are comfortably silent, but as soon as Merrill sees the ships, she gets excited again.

"I wonder where they're headed?" She asks softly after a small ship not unlike the one that carried Marian and the last remnants of her family here. It floats swiftly over the waves, drifting farther and farther away.

Merrill insists on showing her the secret things she'd found, the crevices and mysteries of the busy harbor, mentioning the small things that under different circumstances would have seemed trivial to the others had they accompanied them, but were fascinating between them both.

There were so many tiny, wonderful moments embedded into this place, and Marian did not miss the fact that Merrill had never had the chance to stay in a place long enough to learn it's secrets or find it's stories.

And neither of them had ever lived in so big a place with so many people so near, so loud, so different. Each with their own moments, each hiding their own touches in the fabric and stone of Kirkwall, adding to the curious things Merrill had discovered and shared with Marian, and captured both of their imaginations.

Especially considering half the questions Merrill asked about humans, Marian was at a loss to answer. But instead of apprehension at the questions, they laughed together as they tried to puzzle it out.

 _Between us, secret moments, stolen before another storm, another tragedy_. Merrill thinks the soft thought as they peer over one bridge to find the sunken locks and keys people had thrown into a shallow part of the docks. It is a melancholy song, but Merrill is not sad.

Marian is glad for that. It was inevitable that something terrible would happen again. Kirkwall had that sort of cursed air about it, for all it's vibrant, teeming life, it drew in disasters like no place she'd ever known in all the years she'd wandered the Fade.

She was looking the rusted padlocks and wondering why an air of loneliness and longing curled around them when Merrill suddenly stood up.

"Oh! I have to show you my secret spot!"

"Your what?" Marian mumbled, looking up in confusion.

"I'll show you, come on. They got upset with me when they noticed me watching them work, so I had to find somewhere else to see from. It's a much better spot. I think they thought I wanted to steal from them, but usually they were just stacking empty crates, and those are all _over_ Kirkwall. I don't need to come down to the docks for them." Merrill happily chatted as she led Marian away from the fringes of the docks towards the center, where the tall buildings clustered.

They turned through several alleyways, ducked through a few gates, and pressed past various groups of grim faced workers until Merrill happily presented Marian with a blank wall adorned only with a dilapidated crate which had started to cave in on one side.

Marian stared blankly at the scene before her.

And yet a soft, fierce sort of love hung over it, curling around Merrill.

For the life of her, Marian couldn't understand.

"You can watch from here?" She finally managed, failing to omit the confusion from her voice.

Merrill laughed, "What? No! Go on, _up_."

She gestured again, this time revealing to Marian's eyes the windowsill to be an anchor, the shingles on the roof above to be footholds.

The crate to be a platform.

She only paused a moment before obliging, stepping onto the crate - which despite all appearances, held her weight without even an annoyed creak - and began her ascent.

Merrill followed after her shortly and they climbed, pointing out places to leverage herself up.

One of the shingles squeaked under her touch, and another crumbled slightly, but despite the fact that the wall was indeed not meant to be climbed, they arrived at the top no worse for wear.

As Merrill dusted herself off, Marian's breath caught in her throat.

 

The view was beautiful.

 

Not just the sea stretching out, the waves calmly receding into the distance, the small insignificant yet pleasing sight of the workers diligently moving around the docks. It was the quiet in the air as the murmurs of men and sea, the shrill cry of gulls and groan of ships, all faded into silence.

The love that had festered in the air upon their arrival grew bright and vibrant.

A worn rug was draped over a spot under the shade of a chimney, and an astonishing amount of potted elf root was assembled around the space like some uprooted garden placed on a roof, as if a bit of the mountainside had been misplaced in the city landscape.

Merrill tutted at the curling leaves, going around the chimney and coming back with a pot full of rain water which she promptly set about dividing between the healthy shoots.

" _Merrill_." Marian said softly as the elf hummed to herself.

Her voice was too soft for Merrill to hear.

The song was a lullaby from her clan, old and warm. A firmer, fonder sort of love.

Marian couldn't bring herself to try and interrupt again.

So she sat on the rug and watched.

 


	11. Falling In Love, With Love, And Also Possibly At Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fun is had and all sorts of falling may or may not occur. Possibly.

It is some time later, after Merrill has quietly tended the plants to her satisfaction, when Marian remembers words, and speaking, and not just the long reaching light and the sound of the sea and the silhouette of Merrill at peace.

"How did you find this place?" She manages to get out.

Just as loathe as she is to move Merrill out of that calm contemplation, the elf's face becomes animated with a smile, her markings dancing along her cheeks when she does, and Marian can't find it in herself to regret it.

"Oh, some of the men started chasing me."

 

_...What?_

 

"What?" Marian says blankly.

 

"I think I got too close and one of them noticed the staff. People don’t normally notice the staff. It’s very strange." Merrill shared cheerfully, brushing her fingers along the top of a leafy plant before walking over to sit next to her.

"Are you okay? When did this happen?" Marian said, a slight panic falling over her at the thought of Merrill being attacked without her aid.

Merrill caught on to Hawke's worry, her love reacting and tinging with her own anxiousness in response, swirling in the air with confusion. 

_Hawke seems upset. Did I say something wrong?_

 

Then, suddenly it recoiled from Marian's senses.

She waved her hands, “Oh, it was a while ago, you don’t have to worry, Hawke. And I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I did it for years before I met you. Somehow." Merrill insisted, only a slight tinge of annoyance coloring her tone.

 

_A child, a child, perhaps all she sees is a child. I could never really be anything more to you than something to deal with._

 

Merrill's emotions trembled at the thought, turning pale and sinking back into her with a definite slump.

" _Merrill._ " She said, voice strained to keep from delving too deeply into exasperation, "You realize I'd fight all of Kirkwall's Templar Guard to keep you safe, don't you?"

 

 _Oh._  

 

A pause -

 

_Worried?_

 

_For me?_

 

Merrill coughs, plucking a strand of hair off her outfit and winding it tightly around one of her fingers.

 

"Oh. Well in that case, ma serannas. And also, I'd do the same. For you, I mean. Well maybe for myself. I suppose if I couldn't just run _away_. They _do_ like to chase after mages, don't they?"

"They've been known to have that tendency, yes." Marian agreed, bemused.

Merrill scooted over to the edge of the building and motioned for Marian to follow. With a chuckle, Marian acquiesced, and Merrill pointed out all the people they could watch from her secret vantage point - it was Midday, and the sun was directly above them, ensuring no-one's interest in turning to look towards where they observed.

So they spend a couple minutes watching the sailors yell, back and forth, and the crates they haul to the ships, and the catches that are brought in from the fishing boats.

Really, the most entertaining part is when a sailor brings out a ridiculously large fish and it alarms Merrill so much that Marian starts laughing really hard.

"It's enormous!" The elf cries, standing up, "Look at it, Hawke! You could feed the entire clan with that! Can fish even get that big?!"

She only stops when she notices Marian sitting by her legs, clutching her stomach as she tried to stop crying from laughing so hard.

 

"Oh, by the Dread Wolf!" She cried in panic, "Did something happen while I wasn't looking? Why are you _crying_?"

Marian can barely get any breath out, just putting a hand up as she attempts to recover.

Eventually the tears stop streaming down her face, and she leans back and lays down on the roof. Merrill contemplates her for a moment before sitting back down and then joining her.

Merrill's mind is turning, and Marian might have dozed off under the sun if it wasn't so chaotic beside her.

 

_Tears, but good tears, tears that maybe only **I** saw, and only I can keep. She deserves to laugh like that, like magic made to song. If only I knew how to make her laugh like that, then everything could be okay._

 

_I wish I knew who to thank for making her happy._

 

"Is something the matter, Merrill." She finally says quietly, less like a question.

 

There's a distinct pause.

 

_She laughs like that for Anders sometimes. Maybe he would tell me. I think he'd like to see her laugh all the time, too._

 

"I...just...I don't think I've ever heard you laugh like that before." When Marian doesn't answer, she hesitantly adds, “I…I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy like that.”

 _Oh, my sweet blood mage,_  she thinks fondly, trying to decide about the relative wisdom of holding Merrill's hand right about now.

She sits up slightly to lean on an elbow instead and look down at the nervous elf. Merrill glances at her for only a split moment before leaning up completely and sitting crosslegged beside her.

“It is not just some _one_ , merrill.” she says softly, watching the other's face.

“ _Oh_? Who else?” Merrill says - Marian would mistake it for simple curiosity, but she is picking at the hems of her armor, head ducked and voice going just slightly too fast, “Because you only really do that with Anders. Isabella said you two had a “ _thing_ ”. Not an actual  _item_ , but as in a relationship, but a, oh dear I’ve mucked this up, haven’t I?” She stops, blushing, and twists farther away.

Marian laughs softly, “Not at all. I find you quite endearing.”

Merrill's emotions sting, spiking and withdrawing just as quickly, bubbling in her chest as much as they start to in Marian's, “Hm. When will you introduce us to this mystery other person? Or do I know them? Are they a mage?"

Suddenly Merrill's emotions plummet, to Marian's horror.

"Oh. Did you invite _them_  to help with Anders?"

A soft pang of envy threads its way into her chest, like a knife between her ribs, pooling in the mage's heart like blood in water.

Marian all but throws her hands up, “There is no _stranger_ , Merrill. It is you. And Isabella. And Varric, and Fenris, and Aveline. All of you “ _have a thing_ ” with me. Because you bring out this part of me. I'm laughing because of _you._ ”

Merrill starts blushing furiously, “Oh! _Oh_. Good. Because… because you’re my friend and I… well good.”

she laughs nervously, tucking another errant strand of hair behind one of her ears, “I… I really should have guessed. You’ve been laughing so much right now, I didn’t think it was _me_.”

The sunset’s colors spread over her, reds and oranges. Marian has never really understood the mortal concept of denoting attractiveness in other beings, but she is certain she could say without doubt that Merrill is absolutely beautiful in that moment and no one would dare disagree.

Marian grins at Merrill, eyes sparkling, “This was a good choice. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Merrill smiles happily, emotions fit to burst, coiling around her like a large contented snake that had just fed, "Oh, I liked it too! This was the most fun I've had here, yet."

The love wraps around her, too, but instead of making her happy, Marian feels constricted.

How long can she keep up the lie?

But then Merrill is pointing her towards the edge again to leave, because it's growing dark quickly.

Marian takes the first turn, swinging over the edge carefully and beginning her cautious descent.

A soft, waveringly warm voice calls down from above, "Hawke, wasn’t that a big fish?"

She smiles despite herself, "Yes, it was a big fish, Merrill." She tests several footholds and eventually feels safe enough to continue downwards.

"I’ve never seen a fish so big! what do you suppose it eats?"

“A fish that size? Lyrium, probably. Don’t miss the scaffolding, there."

“Ooooh, do you think lyrium grows in the ocean? That would be fascinating.” Merrill follows her example and switches to the sturdier scaffolding.

“So it would. More likely it is exposed to the sea through an event like an earthquake. Ah, be careful.” She swatted Merrill's foot away from empty air and then chuckled when the elf's response was to stick her tongue out at her from above.

“I don’t think a fish would _survive_ eating lyrium. Perhaps it made a deal with a demon. And I’ve been up here before you know.” Was the cheeky response.

 

“Always a possibility. And apologies.” She tested a sturdy looking tile and found it tip dangerously under her weight. Shifting her path and finding the edge of a battered window frame that held, she grunted in satisfaction.

They continued maneuvering down, much slower than the ascension. As the light began fading faster it got harder to catch obvious footholds and be aware of the ones that would lead to a ready death. But Merrill’s sight and Marian’s spirit senses lead them true enough that Marian isn't overly worried.

“I wonder if spirits can possess animals.” Merrill said thoughtfully, “I mean, I suppose there are tales of werewolves that suggest it, but I don't think anyone actually  _knows_. Keeper says they were actually men who had been cursed."

The answer slips out before she can think better, conversationally humming “Yes, demons can possess animals, but there is little reason for them to _try_. After all, most animals do not have a conscious or a will that can be bartered with. The key to possession is generally consent, so the animals would have to agree. Also, I doubt many demons really want to live as a fish. No opposable thumbs. Not an especially exciting existence, I’d wager. And mind your step, that one's tricky.”

 

She doesn’t recognize the silence as awkward until she looks up and sees Merrill staring down at her.

 

“ _Hawke_ , how do you -“

 

But then Marian sees her foot descend onto that traitorous tile that is not nearly firm enough, and she calls out for the elf to watch out.

 

The shingle breaks.

 

Merrill slips.


	12. A Bit Like Falling, Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are all those corny lines about promising to catch someone if they fall in love?

She does not have to think about it - Marian lets herself fall and lands on her haunches with a grunt, bracing against the wall, having her heavy armor to thank for the extra seconds before Merrill crashes into her arms.

The force does cause her to stumble slightly, but then she shifts the elf in her arms and heaves a beleaguered sigh.

“Well, that’s one way to get down quickly, I suppose.” She murmurs.

Merrill is staying very still, and Marian barely manages to open her mouth to ask whats wrong before a barrage of emotions hit her.

_She caught me she caught me she caught me she’s holding me, praise Mythal what do I do?_

“Merrill?”

They snap around the surprised elf like hissing snakes, _Say thank you!_

“Thank Serennas! I mean Ma you! No, wait!” Merrill blurts. She covers her marked face with shaking hands.

The sincerity of it all almost hurts, and despite everything she grins so painfully hard.

“You’re welcome.” She says, laughing.

 _She’s_ laughing _and her face is so close! I could count her freckles! No, Merrill, don’t do that! She’ll think you’re strange!_

“I’m sorry!” Merrill adds, arms drawn up in surprise, “I’m _so_ sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?"

“No, but please refrain from nearly plummeting to your death any time soon, okay? I’m awfully fond of you and I’d be terribly distraught if something were to happen to you.” Marian answers easily, still smiling down at the Dalish mage in her arms.

Merrill nods vigorously and she allows the elf to totter out of her arms onto the backalley cobblestones. 

"Oh, the crate..." Merrill says softly, in a sort of deflated manner, before she perks up, "I'm sure I can find another somewhere, I think there are usually a couple stacked outside the Hanged Man. Do they use them, you think?"

"No," Marian sighed, brushing herself off just slightly, "I don't. But I will give my apologies. There's probably a sturdier one nearby."

Merrill nodded thoughtfully, but her emotions gave just a soft little tinge of a farewell to the remains of the dilapidated crate before they turned and made their walk home.

Marian generally tries not to indulge in the more demonic pantheon of emotions, even though she knows all emotions are key to love. It's the fear of corruption, she supposes, but for once, she relents, and lets a deep, smug sort of satisfaction come over her. One she will later be ashamed of, but for now she watches Merrill with half lidded eyes, and the mage does not look at her the entire time back to the alienage, nor does she attempt to press the question of any sudden and shocking knowledge on spirit possession. 

_Research on how to get Justice out of Anders_ , she’ll reply when the question is asked.

But apparently she doesn't have to worry, because instead the walk back mostly consists of Merrill decidedly thinking about how close Marian had been and how easy it could have been for them to accidentally kiss and berating herself for the accident that hadn’t happened.

Marian has to remind herself that taking Merrill's hand would probably be taking advantage of the situation, and to let Merrill's heart beat even out before she touches the elf again (nearly breaking her neck on the stone ground notwithstanding). 

The only time Merrill seems to find her voice, they are almost all the way back (again, unmolested by Carta or other thugs. Marian will have to thank Varric later, when she has the chance) when the elf murmurs something so soft that Marian doesn't catch it at first.

But the gist of her thoughts wisp up and gentle, somehow both sweet and rushing, curling and dissipating into the air around Merrill's head.

"The stars." Merrill tries again, and finds her voice, "They're lovely tonight, aren't they, Hawke?"

Marian doesn't have it in her to remind Merrill, "Yes. Yes, they are." She says quietly in return.

Another treasure shared between them, only them. Another moment caught and hung silver, one to the other.

Merrill gazes up at the stars for a long moment, but then looks down, away.

_Like a sigh, a star, bright as ever, guiding, leading. If only I could fly to her, like a bird - a Hawke._

Marian smiles, and reaches out for Merrill's hand.

_She is so far away._

She stops.

Swallows.

And dares, dares to remember the days when she was a Spirit of Love that channelled and guided people's hearts for their best rather than read them and fled.

 _It has been so long._ She fears, for a moment, she has forgotten, or lost it.

It takes a brush of her hand as a sliver of touch at Merrill's back, where once no touch would have been needed, the press of herself, winding magic, and the melancholy of Merrill's thoughts begins to twist.

It doesn't take much - Merrill wants to love, to be within love and of love.

Softly, the emotions begin to unfurl from within the old ones, blooming out, bringing color gently back into Merrill's mind.

_You do not need to fly to the Hawk -_

_When the Hawk is already coming back to you._

And then they are at the alienage, quiet, but with those soft stirrings within the houses, the bustle of life that goes on, even in the conditions the elves are forced to survive, and the stars are blotted out by the Vhenadahl - _The Tree of the People_ \- and Merrill's gaze is level, aimed at her own front door.

"Well, we're back. Let's hope no one broke into my house and stole anything. Oh, that was supposed to be a joke, but now I'm worried." The elf lamented, quickly walking forward to open the door and see.

Marian chuckled, despite herself.

Not many would dare Merrill's home, even invited. She does not think that Merrill needs to worry, but she waits until the mage lets out a sigh of relief from the doorway before she follows inside.

They get through her door and into the house before Merrill regains her tongue at full viscosity. Largely something to do with the basket she recognizes, Marian thinks.

"Oh! I wanted to grab some things at the market while we were down there! Not that you needed them, but there were a couple extra herbs that might have been useful. I mean, I don't know what you're doing, exactly, but the Keeper taught me about some things like this, except we weren't supposed to deal with demons - or spirits! - unless we really had to, but you know that already, I just thought it would be helpful but it's probably too late now, I mean, it would be a little silly to keep up shop when you can't see. Unless you had lanterns. But they've probably had long days. What I mean is, _here_."

Merrill seemed to have realized she was rambling and punctuated that realization by thrusting the basket at Marian in annoyance at herself.

Marian smiled.

"You know. I _can_ help, really. I'm not always good for a lot of things, but I can do magic, the not-Circle magic, especially!" She tried to offer.

Marian's smile wandered away. She sighed, "It's alright, Merrill, we can handle it. Anders doesn't want to have to go through this with any more spectators than he has to."

"So it's just him then?" She said, "Marian, that's an even worse idea. It's not that I don't trust him to make the right choice, but... wait, no, that is what I'm saying. But I mean it in a good way! Promise!"

Marian's small victory that Merrill had actually said her first name was short lived by the sentence as a whole. She hedged. She couldn't very well tell Merrill _she_ was guiding the ritual.

"I didn't say it was just him." Marian said.

"So who is it, then?" Merrill said in bafflement, "And why didn't you ask me first, because I can -"

" _I'll_ be there. It'll go fine." She cut the elf off.

"Marian, I don't think -" Merrill began, frowning, but Marian made a tactical maneuver that she knew would disarm the situation.

"It'll go _fine_ , Merrill." She insisted, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss on Merrill's cheek to distract her mid-sentence.

Merrill's attempt at coherent language failed in a startled noise and ended with Merrill's blush competing with her vallaslin for dominance on her face. There was an explosion of thoughts and emotions, yellows tinged with pinks curling in the air, joy and fear and confusion.

"Yes Hawke." She responded automatically, hand rising to her face, voice garbled "Goodnight see you tomorrow, good luck, don't let his spirit kill you I would be sad goodnight."

And then Marian is promptly shoved out the house, holding the little basket of spell ingredients.

She blinked at the shoddy wooden door, could hear soft breathing on the other side.

"Night, Merrill." She said softly, knowing the elf could hear it.

Then she turned and made her way home.

Anders needed her now.


	13. That Other Time Hawke Did A Dream Ritual Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I make up a bullshit ritual? Maybe. I wanted to make a little art cover thing before I posted this chapter, but its been approximately nine years since the last update and I figured you guys were suffering enough through the wait as it is.

The streets are quiet and the night is falling as she makes her way home.

In a way, the silence is fitting - like the sunlight, her mirth fades into somberness, and she readies herself for the night ahead.

She slips into the house and sees her Dwarven and Elvish guests are all sleeping. The room Anders has is silent, but she does not think for one moment that Anders is asleep, though she knows rest would do him well.

But when she quietly enters the room, Anders eyes are not accompanied by bags, although they are red, though neither of them makes a comment of it.

“Hello.” He says roughly, and his voice sounds worn, though he seems surprised by that.

“Hello.” She says softly.

He sees the basket under her arm and looks away, “Not getting out of this tonight, am I?” He says with a grim smile as he looks pointedly towards the bookshelves.

She sets the basket on the floor and begins going through the contents.

“It’ll get worse if we wait. Better to get it over with.” She says, going for confident, but casual.

Of course, she has the social skills of a drunk duckling, so really how can he take that?

“Ugh.” He says as she sorts through things that she needs _now_ verses things she’ll need after the set up.

After a pause she looks up, “Ugh what?” She says carefully.

He flops backwards onto the bed and throws a pillow over his face.

“Ugh that's the sort I thing I tell my patients when they really don’t want to do an invasive procedure they need.”

She _does not_ say that this is exactly that, that is the exact situation summed up in a healer’s metaphor, but she fears she was rather trapped by that, as the moment she _doesn’t_ say anything, he immediately becomes aware that she absolutely sees it that way.

She can feel his mood instantly drop even lower than it had been.

She wants so badly to drop all of it, to get up and lay with him and hold him, and make him happy again.

But then she would not be Love if she did.

Love does what it has to to protect what it cares for.

She cannot allow this to continue. She _knows_ how risky this is, that she raises the risk of hurting him, of completely corrupting Justice - Or whatever its true name is now. She knows she could take time to split them from each other gently, calmly guide them through it, even bring Justice back from Vengeance.

If she had time.

If she had all the time in the world and nothing else that was a corrupting influence.

But she doesn’t, and its hurting him _now_ \- she knows its not _killing_ him, but there are so many worse things than death.

She uses the chalk to draw the marks on the floor around the bed, instead of getting up to kiss him, pulls out an enchantment she had sandal make to set as the anchor, instead of holding him close, and completes the basic spell instead of whispering to him how everything will be alright.

That can all come later - after.

It needs to. She needs to believe nothing will happen, that it will be fine.

If something happens to him...

She makes her mind silence itself and focuses instead on her work, letting everything fall to dull hum around her.

 

Nothing will happen to him.

 

She is Love, fierce as a dragon. She will prevail. She will save him. Because she must.

 

Eventually he sits up and watches as she finished the markings and lays down the lyrium that gives them a faint glow from the floor.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” He murmurs quietly, reaching over to touch it.

“Ah, ah!” She snaps, smacking his hand away, “No touchy.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender.

She continues, mixing the fresh potion she’ll need him to take as she talks, “It is old, from a time before the Veil. I’ve had to make some modifications, but one must always be ready to innovate when presented with new challenges.”

 

"That sounds reassuring."

"Good."

He chuckles and she gives a start as she realized he'd been sarcastic.

 

At least he's smiling, although she fails to understand what he enjoys so much about her difficulty with mortal tones. Perhaps it is endearing? Ah. Yes, Love finds all sorts of quaint things of vast satisfaction. 

"So what are you planning to do?" _To me_ is added, unspoken, but she can hear the waver in his voice.

"First, you're going to drink this." She offered the finished product to him. He sniffed it and made a gagging motion, then laughed at her affronted face.

"Joking, joking, it's something - nevermind."

He downs it in one go, with a slight shudder from the texture, then hands it back to her, "Minty."

 

She reaches down and activates a rune, which flashes white then turns a pulsing orange. She looks at it forlornly. 

  
"What did that do?" Anders asks, peering over the side of the bed. 

"It informs me you are indeed possessed." She said with a sigh.

"Well we knew that already." He says thoughtfully, watching her as she sets the cup down and crouches to add some chalk markings to the bed frame.

Marian's mother would be horrified. The next line is a little jagged, but she thinks it will still channel the magic appropriately.

"It informs me that you are possessed by a _demon_." She clarifies.

His slight mirth dissipates. "Ah." he says quietly.

 

She stands up and motions for him to lie down.

 

She brushes the hair back from his forehead, "I am going to send you to sleep, and then I am going to find you in the Dreaming. If we're lucky, Justice will be non-violent, cooperative, and waiting there for us to complete the spell, by which I will painlessly sever him from you. "

The alternative outcome that she obviously expected was left unsaid.

His face set, but he didn't argue. Perhaps he knew he wouldn't get the words out in time.

 

She heaved a soft sigh and let the spell trickle down through her finger tips into his skin.

As he loses consciousness, his eyelids flutter and she feels anxiety, his stomach turns and boils in knots. Her hand brushes his brow and the discomfort fades.

 

He is so soft, in sleep.

 

How she wishes she didn't have to disturb him. She lays, watching him for a moment, before turning and whispering a soft command to the markings as her other palm lies against his cheek. They blaze white, and her consciousness swims, then fades.

 

The moment she appears on a barren path, Anders or Justice no where in sight, she knows everything has gone wrong.


	14. Marian Gets A New Rival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been approximately a bijillion years since my last update whoops. Things are picking up. Slightly.
> 
> Ish.
> 
> You'll see.

She wades deeper into the Dreaming, where unsung thoughts and hopes begin to half-materialize. Kirkwall is a dark and lonely place, threaded thickly with the thousand wants and fears it's many citizens harbor secretly. It was an unusually magical place where the Veil was perceptibly thin, just as potent as Elvhen burial grounds or an Ancient Dwarven thaig. Both things also alarmingly close to Kirkwall.

 

She did not wonder why the Kirkwall Circle was beset upon by so many terrible events. Nor did she envy the current Grand Enchanter, whoever it be. To be fair, she did not envy the leader of the Templars, either, but that was more to do with Meredith's methodology and personality than any stresses her job might place upon her. 

 

What a deeply unpleasant woman.

 

As she passes the crags and floating spires, she begins to realize she stands taller than her usual height in the waking world. Instantaneously she becomes aware of her true form, multiple limbs and all, and begins the half-arduous work of stuffing it back meticulously into a more compact, familiar shape.

It would not do for Anders to panic upon her arrival and attack out of fear.

 

At least, she can only _hope_ he will attack unknown things out of fear.

 

She knows that somewhere in the darkness, Justice is hunting Anders.

 

Or perhaps whatever is left of Justice is.

 

She quickens her pace.

 

-

 

When she finds him, he is standing across from a figure unfamiliar.

 

Would that it was not Justice, but the moment she draws near enough to recognize it, so in turn does it recognize her. Whatever words Anders might have been saying to sway it are forgotten as it lets loose a cry, a multitude of voices cascading in a roar with one long thin scream running through it.

 

She has just enough luck to tug on the Fade enough - like a rug - that Anders falls over as the creature attempts to swipe the air where he had been standing, granting her just enough time to get closer.

 

Vengeance, pulsating a vibrant orange, sends a vermillion blast of energy her way, but she braced herself beforehand and though the experience is unpleasant, suffers little damage otherwise. As the wave rushes over her, she shakes off the residual energy, crafting herself a sword and shield of starlight and coming to guard Anders, who starts to stand.

Direct battle is not the way of Vengeance - at least, not till it is stronger. Weakened as it is from being rent away from it's only source of energy - Anders - and just barely reintroduced to the Fade. It slips away and then returns, always rushing towards Anders before she steps in between them. It retreats with a hiss and then folds back into the mists, given away only by the glowing embers of it's gaze.

 

It's tongue is poison and rage, a language long dead so thankfully Anders does not understand it, though the feelings it elicits are doubtless not unnoticed by him. 

_To He do I claim, to He will I drink of, to He will I lay my fill of Death._

It is an old oath, spoken once by warriors swearing revenge against their enemies upon the loss of a family or clan. But it is meaningless to her, if not for the chill it brings to her spine. It is the only thing Vengeance says - when it's tortuous screams don't echo around them.

 

She bashes her sword against her shield, giving a war cry of her own.

 

_As I am Love, and am Full, here is my place from which I do not stray, here is the promise which I keep. To bring all which is light, to bring all that is flame. For I am Love Eternal. If I am yet bound, I am yet brightest._

 

With every clash, sparks flew from her weapons, glowing brighter and causing some of the mist to recede. 

 

_For if I am Bound!_

 

The Vengeance demon hissed with each hit, and she heard Anders give a slight groan as the light grew even stronger.

 

_I am yet Brightest!_

 

Vengeance's voices snarled, and it began to repeat the old oath again. But she was here, next to that which she was Bound. Anders was enough that she was as strong as she could be, while Vengeance was greatly weakened.

 

For how long the struggle went on, she could not say - eons and moments were like to pass in the Fade without anyone the wiser. Both of them, however, began to tire, and Anders, voice whispered though it was, seemed to sense it as his words grew fewer and fewer.

 

Finally, there is an opportunity when it rushes in that she manages to slip her shield in-between it and Anders and the last moment and send it reeling. She raises sword to strike the final blow but Anders cries out, “ _No!_ ” and a grasp tugs at her shoulder.

 

The distraction is enough. It kicks her in the stomach to send her stumbling back and flees, the battle over.

 

_For now._

 

A deep, rolling sense of unease fills her as she recovers enough to see the green mists swallow up the vibrant orange.

 

Anders runs over to her, a hand out to help her up.

She thinks he might plan to apologize - or apologize for not feeling truly sorry, but he halts suddenly as her features swim more into view. The Fade had a penchant for obscuring details until you were very close, and she knows the moment his expression clears in blank surprise, just such a thing had happened. She pushed herself up, glancing at him to see a look of complete and utter bewilderment on his face. When her eyes meet his, it is as if a jolt shocks him from his reverie and he proceeds to look over all of her.

 

Including several feet above her head. She almost asks -

 

_Ah. Her true form. A mage would see it no matter if she hid it. Foolish thing to forget._

 

Her image ripples, and then she is standing several heads above him. Six golden eyes blink in unison down at the awestruck mage. She shifts nervously under his gaze, unprepared for the scrutiny. He seems to collect himself slightly.

 

“I always thought love would be…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.

 

“Smaller?” she offered.

 

“Redder.” He gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck from craning it up so long. “Desire demons…”

 

“Are love _corrupted_. Pure love is pure… light. As I am." She lets that rest a moment as they turn and walk. "You expected me to be pink?”

 

“I don’t know what I expected, which seems stupid of me now, in retrospect.” He is staring up at her, awkwardly smiling, as if he is partially in pain.

 

She glances away. At least he is not screaming in terror at the sight of her. Small victories.

 

“Does this form bother you?” She asks quietly.

 

The notion seems to startle him from his unfocused gaze, “Bother? No! I…” he laughed tightly again, but his smile was reassuring, “I love it.”

 

Then his expression twisted, “Although… it kind of… hurts. To look at. You’re _really_ bright. And I keep…” He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, “Getting distracted. Though thats more likely from the Fade than you, I suppose.”

 

_Karl’s hands on my own, mother’s laughter in the cottage. The library nook in the Circle where no one could see you and all the noise was quiet. Ser Pounce A Lot’s whiskers brushing against my leg. The smell of candle wax and elf root. The rush of Lyrium. What is this…?_

“It is love.” She said. Her voice seemed too loud, even for her. And Anders startled like a rabbit. The urge to wrap herself around him was almost overwhelming, to protect him from their surroundings. But she abstained. _She_ was the thing frightening him, after all. And the Fade was the worst place to partake in physical engagements - too easily would both of them be influenced by desire.

 

She hummed, then attempted, somewhat successfully, to dim herself. Anders looked around wildly as the light her form exuded faded and the landscape around them darkened considerable.

 

“Was that…all you?” He said in surprise.

“It stands to reason. Unless the Fade simply meant to follow my example.”

He laughed, but she did not follow him, gaze cast over the landscape, six eyes narrowed for the sight of intruders.

“I… Marian. You’re more… spirit-y here. Like the you that I know really well is…”

 

 _Gone_ his mind whispered in fear.

 

“Muted.” He murmured instead.

 

But his emotions twisted with doubt, with loss, the concept of losing both Justice and Marian. _No. No he hadn’t. It was too much -_

 

The Fade began to agitate at his emotions. Fear demons would quickly catch scent of them and then, like sharks, swarm towards the blood in the water.

 

“No fear, Anders.” She whispers, crouching down to place a gentle hand on his back. His breathing evens out and he looks up at her, “I am here.”

 

“Why do you seem so far away?” He mumbles, clutching to her like a drowning kitten.

 

“I am anxious.” She says honestly, “I cannot let emotions have too much sway in the Fade, else I run the risk of corruption.”

 

That answer seemed to calm him, at least, and the turmoil of his emotions in the Fade disapated.

 

“Why six eyes?” He says, forcing himself to take a couple breaths.

 

“And limbs.”

 

“And limbs.”

 

She paused, considering his question. "It is different for every Love spirit." She said thoughtfully, "Love is very fluid - very symbolic and sentimental. Love can have a nearly limitless amount of appendages due to being composed of all emotions. I, myself, have two eyes for the original Marian’s eyes" she brushed a hand against her face, "and two arms for the original Marian’s arms," she glanced down at the multiple appendages, inspecting them. "But then one eye and one limb each for the people I swore to protect in her name."

"Her brother. Her sister. Her mother and her father." At each she indicated an arm. "To always offer a hand, and always keep an eye out."

Dryly, she supposes that she ought to add another set of eyes and arms now.

"Nah." Anders says, a somber expression slipping away to something slightly more mischievous, "That would a pain to _hand_ le."

 

She chuckled, grimacing as she shook her head, then grew serious again.

 

"You were there... for a moment the person I know was there." Anders said, quietly.

 

"So, it seems, was Justice." She said in response once they'd walked back to the space where she'd first arrived in the Fade. She crouched down again. "You must promise me not to go looking for him. You will not be safe."

 

"I'm not sorry that I didn't let you kill him." Anders says, kicking some dust.

 

"Anders, say you will not go looking for Vengeance."

 

He looks up at her, adamant, "Say _you_ won't go looking for him so you can finish the job."

 

She sighed, "It is dangerous, exceedingly dangerous, Anders. It will want to kill you -" He made an affronted noise and she held up one of her hands, " _if_ only to get to me. It will want to kill me, if only to get to _you_. It is Vengeance now, Anders, not Justice. There are no rules to it, just a goal." She pressed the hand to his chest, " _Revenge_."

 

"So you're saying he'll be back regardless of what I do."

 

She turned to regard the Fade, deceptively silent though it was, then looked back.

 

"Vengeance will be back." She agreed quietly, "And though I won't go looking for it _now_ to kill it, when it does come to us, it will be when it is much stronger and we are unprepared. And then, Anders, I will be forced to kill it."

 

"There's still a chance." Anders argued quietly. "That it won't come for us."  
  


She bit her tongue for a moment, knowing to be careful with her words, and a sarcastic reply would do little good here, "Anders, it feels slighted by us - and though it doubtless hates me more, it will want to exact revenge on me by hurting you."

 

"It's gone!" Anders half-shouted, gesturing at the empty space around them, "Can't we just hope?!"

 

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Alright." She agreed, knowing she couldn't reach him yet, while the grief was so strong.

 

"It's gone." She added quietly, standing up and gathering her power.

 

 _For now._ She thought darkly as she brought the dream to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Anders was calling Vengeance "He" but Marian was being insistent with the "It" and this is low-key metaphoric for the way both of them think about the spirit/demon. Marian is a lil bit more right but that's because spirits don't really dig gender specific pronouns (Least not in this story they don't).


	15. The Love Spirit Is Proud But Not In A Dick-y Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had a lot already written for a while and since I've made you guys wait so long I figure putting out a little more wouldn't be a bad choice.
> 
> To clarify, I have a lot written, but certain parts within chapters aren't written yet, so even though this has been finished for quite a while, the last portion of the previous chapter hadn't been done and I'm a lazy bum ergo long wait.
> 
> I can't wait for the Epilogue. But I have to finish first in order to get to that, so... here's another chapter or two. ;)

Marian had always been wary of Pride demons. But she knew that having pride could be important - could help one to stand tall against oppression, or seek betterment within themselves.

Or fulfill a sense of pride in others around you. And so was Love made of all parts and pieces of other emotion. She nurtured a pride of her own, voracious and fierce, nestled firmly within her heart for each of her companions. At their triumphs, at their endurance, at their bright spirits.

And the person she often found herself being most proud of was Aveline.

Her Guard Capitan. One who had grown and developed without losing the core of her being since the day they met.

Since the day she lost Wesley.

Sharp and curling in her chest, Marian had nearly given herself away when they met, when she felt the sickness sinking its claws into him. Her promises - futile, but filled with a pure love - not intoxiacted with lust or desperation, clear and strong.

She’d made sure to ease Aveline’s mourning. To make sure the empty building in her chest did not fracture under the weight of loss, but held steady. All throughout the boat ride to Kirkwall, she had monitored the warrior, guarding her dreams from demons wishing to pray on the fear and pain that surrounded their group.

And Aveline had not internalized her suffering. She had not allowed it to consume her. She carried the burden and then laid it to rest - did not dwell on him excessively except to promise herself she would continue - for him.

And Marian could feel nothing but absent, full and fond, furiously fervent pride. Like a mother hearing one of her brood had scrapped her knees only to look and see Aveline still standing straight and tall. Making sure the wound added to her strength rather than stole from it.

Marian had worried about how Aveline would dedicate herself - what she would put her energies in to distract and devote her focus. But she’d held fast to her morals - and to her sense of protecting others.

Marian had been almost uncharacteristically delighted the day she took it upon herself to protect her fellow guards. 

And now?

The door was open, and a guard nodded to Hawke as she entered. It was warm - sturdy but safe. Her Captain looked up, surprised. But smiled warmly when she recognized Hawke. It sent a little thrill of joy to feel Aveline’s quiet, subdued love. It beat so strongly next to a sense of faith - of humble pride - in Hawke that she nearly shivered from it, like slipping into a heated bath when everything else had been cold.

It filled her with a heightened determination to tell her one day, to have that same faith - that same pride - in her friend’s ability to understand.

“Ah, Hawke, I wasn’t expecting you.” Aveline shuffled some papers and stood up from her desk, “What can I do for you?”

She smiled affectionately at Aveline and lifted a hefty shield, which caused the Guard Captain’s eyebrows to raise.  
Then she offered it to the other woman, who after a moment, took it gingerly.

“For me?”

“I had meant to give it earlier to you but…” _But then Leandra Hawke died and I was a bit of a mess_ goes unsaid. Aveline’s expression of open curiosity pinches in understanding and she nods.

“Of course.”

It led to a conversation about Wesley's shield, and from there, at Aveline's sharp reprimand, Hawke revealed she could never bring herself to sell it, which caught the Guard Captain.... off guard (ha).

Aveline bowed her head slightly and murmured a soft thanks, a brief and light feeling fluttering in the air between them as she passed the shield into Aveline's hands. After giving her gratitudes, the feeling faded to something... Marian could not quite describe the feeling. Akin to bittersweet, but so worn that it was neither bitter nor sweet, just the faint, faded memory of pain. 

_Wesley_. Marian thought to herself. _She hasn't quite let go yet._

Almost without really thinking, the words slip out of her mouth, half speaking to herself. "Why haven't you moved on?"

The guard Captain looked up from her studying of the shield with a blink, and then her brow furrowed slightly. "What?" She said softly, frowning.

Marian didn't really hear her.

Hawke felt a smile spread softly over her face as she looked at her friend's spirit bursting out into the air around them,"Aveline." She said softly, plucking at the threads curling out of Aveline's glimmering soul, "You're ready to love again."

She came back to herself a moment too late. _What did I just say?_ She thinks blankly.

“What did you just say?” Aveline says sharply, staring her straight in the eye as she lifts up the shield and turns to put it on a smaller table against the wall.


	16. Aveline Reprimands Nug Gambling The Love Spirit May Or May Not Have Enabled In The Past

Hawke stands stock still for a moment under the off-handed complaint and the intensity with which it strikes her.

 _No, no, no, you _planned_ how you were going to do this._ she thinks a little desperately to herself.

Aveline notices, looking over her shoulder as she places the shield down, catching her still expression, “Hawke? Is something the matter?”

_Anders made out a silly diagram and everything!_

She unfroze and strode over to the door and shut it. Then looked at Aveline, who was watching her, baffled and unamused.

“I…” _I what, exactly? Am a magical creature you have absolutely no reason to trust in a city obsessed with curbing Mages and magic?_ She thinks sarcastically to herself before straightening.

“I have something I should tell you.”

Aveline squints at her, “If you tell me you helped Varric start up another illegal nug race gambling ring, so help me, Hawke- “

“No.” She says softly.

Aveline frowns, then seeing the vulnerability in her countenance, walks around the desk to come face to face with the other warrior.

_Fidgets, fearful, frowning, Hawke is never like this, have I said something wrong? Can I make it better?_

Marian lets out a breath.

“It’s… complicated. Hard for me to tell people and… and you’ll likely be… upset with me afterwards.”

Aveline’s eyes narrow, but instead of suspicion or anger - _Eyes darting, dark, down, her head is bowed, what has happened to you? So strong, once, to stare down a Dragon, to why won’t you look at me? She can tell me, and we will fix it together._

“You can tell me, Hawke.” She says. A hand raises, as if to clap Hawke on the arm, but apparently Aveline thinks better of it, and it falls back down.

Marian swallows. Then takes another deep breath.

Not the same way she told Anders. They had spoken about it, agreed - _lead up to it, don’t spill it all at once. Too shocking. Too unexpected_. As if any of this wasn’t already unexpected. As if that would really make it easier.

“I am not who you think I am.”

Aveline shifts uncomfortably, “That’s a bit hard to believe since I’ve known you and your family for what - 3 years now?” Then, uncomfortably she adds as a joke, “Unless you’re telling me you weren’t nobility and Gamlen killed off a family before you arrived.”

She sighs, to ease any worries, then amends, “I am not _what_ you think I am."

Aveline turns her head, so she can look on Marian from different angles, as if that will illuminate her words better. Not a very effective interrogation tactic, but maybe it hasn’t gotten to that yet. She frowns, “You’ve lost me.”

Marian’s hands tighten at her side absent-mindedly, and Aveline’s gaze flicks to that for a moment.

“I…” Her throat is dry, “I am…”

She deflates. This is exhausting. How does someone lead up to it anyways?

“I am not human. There. I said it. The Champion of Kirwall is a spirit.”

Aveline regards her, dumbfounded, and Marian swears she hears her mumble to herself, “She’s finally gone mad.”

She sighs, “I’m not - Aveline. I am a spirit who has lived the last thirty something years as Marian Hawke.”

_It was Leandra’s death. It must have been too much. Foolish to leave her alone to mourn. We thought she was getting better but we were deluding ourselves. Hawke, I’m so sorry._

“Aveline -“ She starts, sounding indignant, but Adeline does touch her then - grasping her by the shoulders and marching her over to the chair across the desk. “Sit.” She instructs the spirit. Marian complies.

This would be amusing if there wasn’t so much dread curling in her gut.

“You’re not a … a spirit. Or a demon. You’re not even a mage, Hawke. Gamlen - Gamlen will be able to find papers somewhere that document your birth.” Suddenly invigorated by her words, the Guards Captain sets about finding what she needs to write an urgent letter to Hawke’s somewhat estranged Uncle.

She huffs, trying not to smile at the absurdity of the situation.

“Aveline -“ She tries again, but Aveline holds up her hand imploringly, “Look at me, Hawke. You can’t even do magic.”

She feels her gut tighten further.

It will stop being funny in just a moment, she thinks.

She holds out her hand, “If I show you, will you believe me?” She says, hoping against hope that Aveline will say no.

The guardswoman in question just claps a hand to her face, seeming at a loss for what to do.

“Sure, Hawke, wiggle your fingers and summon some fire. And if you can’t, then you have to admit you’re not a _spirit_ and I don’t have to find some institution for you somewhere.”

 _Like the Circle?_ Marian wonders darkly.

“Don’t…” She hesitates, “Please don’t freak out.”

The weakness in her voice at least causes the other woman to drop her hand and regard her seriously again.

After they make eye contact, she lets the power tingle up her arm.

A blue flame springs into being over the tips of her fingers. She wiggles them for effect, with just a hint of grim humor in her chest as she does it.

When they mist away, Aveline is staring at her hand with her mouth slightly open.

She supposes she ought to take the initiative while Aveline hasn’t recovered enough to draw her sword yet and call the entirety of the Kirkwall guard.

Another thing they had agreed on - _do it in Aveline’s home instead of where there would be about a hundred potential witnesses_. 

And to believe her friends thought _Marian_ had the most of her shit together out of _all_ of them.

“I am a spirit who met mage Marian Hawke when she was five years old. When she was about eight, she summoned a Desperation Demon to try and save her brother. I killed it, but it had already mortally wounded her beyond my capacity to heal. She asked me to take care of her surviving family, so I took on her form. The next twenty something years I’ve lived as Marian Hawke, protecting her family. Well. Until recently.”

 _Not that it did any good_ goes unsaid.

Aveline’s jaw started working again, and she closes it. Slowly the glazed look in her eyes clears over, and she leans back in her chair to level a blank but intense look at Marian. Her expression was carefully emptied of emotion, but Marian could feel the maelstrom of thoughts within her mind.

She couldn’t read them.

“Are you possessing someone?”

“No.”

“Are you possessing the real Marian’s body?” 

That stung, but she clenched her jaw and said icily, “ _No._ ”

“How do you have a physical form? I thought… Fade creatures couldn’t be here without a vessel. Or most of them, at least."

She shrugged apologetically, “I… It happened when Marian died. I… couldn’t explain it if I tried. I just needed a body to do what I had to, and then…I felt the Fade fall away from me. I have never met another spirit - or demon - who did it. There is no basis for what I am. I doubt a corpse would grow to adulthood if I _had_ possessed something.”

Adeline narrowed her eyes, but eventually accepted it and moved on.

“What are your plans now that the Hawkes are dead? Unless Gamlen is your new charge.” Aveline said dryly, then added, “Though with his debts, I don’t hold out much hope for him surviving the year."

She felt a flush curl up her neck as she tried to find an answer for that. She hadn’t expected Aveline to pounce so quickly on it. She cleared her throat, knowing full well Aveline was regarding her with morbid fascination as she realized Marian didn’t know what to say.

 _ _That_ doesn’t happen often_ Aveline thinks dryly and - surprisingly - with a hint of accomplished amusement.

What was she supposed to say? _I’m going to devote my existence to protecting you and my friends from all harm that I can?_

She had the distinct feeling Aveline would not react well to that, truth or no, she wouldn’t believe it. It would be too much and too soon and too _good_. Aveline was one of the more cynical people - if it sounded too good to be true, it probably was. Marian had always enjoyed that more sly aspect of her character.

“Not become a demon.” She decided on firmly.

Aveline squinted at her some more. Then said, “What kind of demon?”

Damn.

“I…I have the potential to become a great many types.” Marian said, hand raising to press against her neck in the way she’d often seen Anders do when he was having a particularly bad night during Wicked Grace.

“Name one.”

“Despair.” _Wrath, Desire, Fear_ , the words rang in her head, but she did not say them.

A rush of something from Aveline’s carefully controlled emotions flooded the air between them, _\- safe, keep her safe? All this time, and the threats are out of my control. Is it Leandra? Is it more? What did Anders used to say? Children of the Maker -_

“What kind of Spirit are you?”

Damn damn damn.

Why did they always remember to ask?

She straightened nevertheless. There was nothing to be ashamed of - she simply recognized the implications. She looked Aveline straight in the eye.

“Love.”

Aveline’s sharpened gaze broke, as she blinked in surprise, leaning away in her chair slightly.

“Love?” She said, sounding unsure, and - was that a slight flush to her cheeks? - Marian didn’t trust herself to speak, so she only nodded.

Adeline closed her eyes.

“What does this change?” She murmured softly, before opening them.

Marian opened her mouth and then closed it. She frowned, trying to figure out how to answer.

She eventually gave up.

“Nothing.” She said softly, “But also… everything."

Aveline tilted her head as she looked upon Marian and the silence stretched out between them as she contemplated this. She braced herself for whatever condemnation would shortly descend. Adeline’s eyes flashed, and Marian held her breath.

 _Fool._ she thinks to herself.

Then - “Why did you think I would be upset with you?”

Marian blinked.

“I… what?”

“What have you done to upset me?”

Marian did her level best impression of a fish, mouth opening and closing in shock, “I… I am a spirit…?” She finally offered hesitantly.

Aveline snorted, and a hand came up to massage her brow.

“ _Love_.” She chuckled to herself, “Of all the…”

Marian felt her nerves, jumping around inside her skin, begin to bleed away, leaving her feeling slightly boneless.

“Well I suppose that means if anyone should tell me to find a new man, you’d be the most qualified.” Adeline finally murmured dryly.

Marian didn’t have the capacity to laugh. Luckily they were spared a further awkward silence when the door burst open and a guard all but tumbled in.

“Guard Captain Aveline! Attack from the Carta at the docks! Some rival gang war -“

“Send a contingent of 5 down, Guard Jel, thank you, I’ll be along shortly.”

The guard disappeared from the doorway, forgetting to close it.

It didn’t seem to matter, however, as Aveline was already standing up.

Marian just watched her, not having the strength just yet.

Aveline regarded her for a moment, her gaze cool and expression unaffected.

“I…” She started, then stopped. Her face hardened, “I should go."

Hawke felt something cold and afraid settle in her stomach.

Everything gone. How could Aveline trust her now?

Was what they had gone forever?

Then Aveline turned around and grabbed the shield Marian had brought, before turning and walking swiftly out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the Nug Race Gambling Varric had Hawke's help setting up, mostly he gave her a pleading look and she melted. ;)


End file.
